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Chapter Text

“DEACON! CHASE!” Grandpa Ralph’s voice bellowed from the kitchen and travelled all through the sunny farmhouse both boys called home. It was eight o’ clock in the morning. The sun was bright, its rays streaming through the curtains Chase had flimsily drawn shut the night before. “BOYS!” Grandpa shouted again.

Having spent his entire life on the Hollow pseudo-farm, Chase was no stranger to getting up early and helping around the house. He particularly liked working in the stables (although, nobody tell Deacon - Chase’s teasing would be ineffective if he found out!) where he would be able to hide from the sun and escape the usual hum-dum of daily life.

But last night had dragged on unexpectedly after Chase was gripped by the marvellous idea of a cozy indoor-outdoor open-air theatre for Silver, Bronze and Goldie. Chase, movie extraordinaire, hosted the most brilliant opening film night. Rom-com was the choice of the keyple, voted into the theatre by Silver’s willpower and her puppy-eyed looks. Even Deacon, who had originally campaigned for a swashbuckling romance film, admitted he had a good time.

A few moments of silence, and then muffled footsteps sounded in front of Chase’s bedroom. The door creaked open. “Chase,” Deacon moaned, his bed hair just as bad as Chase’s as Chase slowly sat up on his bed. His Alastair body pillow was crushed beneath him. It was a miracle how the pillow hadn’t been crushed to a flat pancake yet.

“Huh?” Chase grumbled groggily, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Deacon groaned as if this was all too early for his brain to comprehend. “It’s Grandpa. He said to come down for a very important mission briefing, although I can already guess what’s going on. The kitchen looks like a warzone, and my calendar says it’s the annual townhall fundraising event in a month’s time.”

“You’ve got the annual fundraising event on your calendar?” Chase asked incredulously. He was halfway done putting on his jacket when his morning brain fog cleared and finally processed what Deacon said. “You think the Hollow Cake Reserve Force is going to be deployed again?”

Deacon didn’t bother to answer. His look of yearning for sweet, soft death spoke volumes enough. He simply slumped to the ground, remembering the horrors he and Chase had gone through the prior year when they were forcibly drafted into the Hollow Cake Reserve Force. With the level of strategising and coordination baking prep needed, he honestly believed Grandpa Ralph could run for presidency if Diane egged him on.

“Just come down when you’re freshened up,” Deacon said as he made to leave Chase’s room, a temporary shelter for him in the midst of Grandpa Ralph’s furious baking. “Don’t take too long! I don’t think I can handle it alone!”

.

“Right,” Grandpa Ralph announced with a stony grimace on his face. He stood in the kitchen with his arms akimbo, staring at his grandsons dead in the eyes with the air of an army commander. “Brenda’s given me intel on Diane’s latest move. She’s called for back-up, that lousy excuse of a baker.”

A fuzzy sort of silence stretched between them, lest for the constant whirring of grandpa’s prized stand mixer going at speed 2 in the background.

Chase coughed. “What intel, grandpa?” he asked. He had had to live with this year round. Compared to Deacon, who only came back to stay this summer, Chase was much better at reading grandpa’s cues.

“Diane’s grandson is coming! He’s going to help her with her baking, that’s for sure, that little cheat! Joke’s on her! I’ve got two grandsons!” And he burst out laughing like he had managed to drop a bucket of soot over Diane’s head.

Deacon shot Chase a confused look. “How– what– I mean, what does her grandson have to do with anything?”

Grandpa gave Deacon an unimpressed stare, as if going, really now, Deacon, I’ve taught you better than this. “He’s going to help her with baking.”

“I know… that’s what you said… but why does it matter?”

“He’s going to help her, and the annual fundraiser is next month.”

“I kn–”

“AH!” Chase leapt off his chair at the table, quickly finishing up his bowl of cereal and depositing it in the sink. “I just remembered, grandpa, I have to help Deacon with his assignment, so we best get going!” Deacon looked even more confused than he was before, but Chase didn’t have time to care. Not now. Not when he could sense grandpa’s lecture-y meter was filling up. Ding, ding, ding! He could almost hear it ringing shrilly in the back of his mind.

He rushed to the door and had to make a hasty U-turn to grab Deacon’s collar before unceremoniously yanking him from the table and out the house, leaving poor grandpa staring at their quickly retreating backs in shock.

“Assignment…? Help…?”

.

The kitchen was the heart of the Hollow farmhouse with a spacious living room situated right behind it in an open plan fashion. The door of the kitchen led straight into the backyard, where the stable was.

“Hey! Chase!” Deacon choked out in Chase’s hurry to leave the kitchen. “What’s your deal!”

Chase let go of his collar and spun around. “Didn’t you see?” he gesticulated wildly. “Grandpa would have gone on and on and on about Diane and her grandson. If we wanted to get anything done today, we had to leave.”

“I mean… I see that now,” Deacon grumbled, “but did we have anything to do today?”

The boys stared at each other as realisation dawned on them. No. They didn’t have anything on the agenda today. They just wanted to get out of grandpa’s hour-long lecture. And so, they stood there, staring at each other, and then past their shoulders (not in Chase’s case) into the landscape.

What were they going to do?

They felt so lost all of a sudden. Gosh, how had they passed time as kids back then?

It was as if the world was mocking their short-sightedness too, with a faint chirping of crickets in the distance. Quiet thumping approached them and then, “Argh!”

“Argh!” the boys shrieked in response, jumping back to see what had sneaked up on them. Despite entering and completing numerous different storybook plots by now, the experience did nothing to improve their reflexes, but instead only enhanced their reactions to the exaggerated level of a storybook character’s.

Stood a little beneath them with her arms crossed and a decidedly unimpressed stare was Prunella. “What are you guys doing?”

Chase breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh hey, Prunella. We’re just…” he trailed off.

“Running away,” Deacon finished.

Prunella cocked her head to one side, her brows still furrowed. “Those aren’t very helpful answers,” she stated.

Deacon winced and threw a quick glance over his shoulder at the farmhouse. He ushered them out of the yard and onto the path to the town centre. “It’s grandpa,” Deacon elaborated. “He found out Diane’s grandson is coming to Sugar Springs and he’s not happy about it…”

Somehow, Prunella managed to look even more unimpressed with them. “And you’re running away?”

“Because he was going to give us a long, long lecture on how that would be terrible! Prunella, you don’t understand how painful they are.”

Prunella stuck her nose up high. “I do,” she rebuked, “I just never pay attention to them.”

Chase made a sound of amazement. “Oh… maybe I should have thought of that before.”

Sugar Springs was a fairly small town located in the middle of nowhere. The town centre itself wasn’t large, and the homes in the area peppered themselves around the centre like moths flocking to the flame.

Grandpa Ralph moved to Sugar Springs quite a long time ago, even before the relative boom a few decades back when more people moved in. Because of this, they managed to claim a small piece of largely secluded land for their homes that was out-the-way and also a short walk away from town.

Their houses were connected by a well-trodden path that was more dirt than it was road. Where the tyres of the trucks they use don’t usually touch, grass and wildflowers grew. Chase, Deacon and Prunella walked together. Prunella walked in front of the boys, leading them with a branch she picked up from earlier up the path.

A comfortable silence fell between them, and Deacon’s mind strayed to memories of the aftermath of the latest Cinderella book they had done. Glancing in Prunella’s direction and then purposely slowing down to make sure he was out of earshot, Deacon said, “Chase… What happened in that book? How did we get out?”

Chase stuttered to a slight pause before quickly, mechanistically, resuming his walking as if nothing had happened. Deacon had spent too many years growing up with Chase to be fooled by his sunny deposition.

“Chase!”

“What!” Chase scratched his neck. “Nothing happened.”

Right, and the sky is red, Deacon thought and rolled his eyes. He came to a complete stop, and ignored Prunella’s questioning gaze when she stopped too. “Chase, that was more narratonin than ‘nothing’ would give. Something happened.”

Chase’s eyes darted left and right, and left and right. Then, seeing Deacon’s determined stare. “Fine!” he whined. “I’ll tell you, but can we wait until we’re back home? Jeez! Com’on Prunella! I’m craving some ice cream real bad right now! And Deacon’s paying!”

“Sorry, what now?” Deacon squawked as Chase hurried Prunella along.

As they walked into the centre of town, they could already see the beginnings of what would be a small battle in the lead up to the ferocious war of the annual fundraiser. Ribbons of pastel yellow, pink and blue were strung everywhere where there was a tall surface. Colourful posters were already making their rounds in the windows of the cafes and little trinket shops.

Chase would normally glower a little at the easy acceptance the shopkeepers had towards the fundraiser posters, and the contradicting reluctance towards his own ‘CHASE HOLLOW, LIKE AND FOLLOW™’ posters. But today (and actually, the past few days), all Chase’s brain could think about was the true love’s kiss he shared with Buddy to get out of that waterlogged book.

Perhaps more uncommonly in the state where they live, the entire area of Sugar Spring’s town centre was pedestrianised. Worn sandy-yellow cobblestones paved the ground, sometimes alternating in the colour and direction the stones were laid to create a starburst pattern which centred around the town’s old water fountain.

Prunella tugged on Chase’s sleeve. “Chase, come on. I heard mum say Mr Gilbert is trialing a new pistachio ice cream flavour.” She started pulling them towards ‘Gelert’s Gelatos’.

Mr Gilbert’s ice cream shop was not run by a man called Gelert or sold gelatos. He had found that out during his first visit to the ice cream parlour, earnt by the extra hard work he had put in for his homework when he was in elementary school.

Gelert’s Gelatos’ latest renovation coincided with the start of Chase’s mum and dad relationship a few decades ago. The hard plastic booths and the nailed-down stools along the window bar looked like they permanently belonged to the 80’s. Although the bright colours of that rich decade had faded to muted pastels from the weary march of time, Alfonso Gilbert always made sure the surfaces were as clean and shiny as they could be.

Chase fondly remembered clambering as best as he could onto the counter and boldly asking the then-black haired Mr Gilbert why his shop was not ‘Gilbert’s Ice Creams’ instead. Hearty laughter came, followed by almost hysteric wheezing.

“Kid,” young Gilbert said, “Have some strawberry ice cream. On the house.” And then when Chase and his family were about to leave, “Oh, I forgot. So, my Italian cousin wasn’t very impressed and thought I needed a new name… and a new business premise!”

The bell attached to the timber of the doorframe rang as they entered.

“Boys!” Mr Gilbert shouted from inside his kitchen. He wiped his hands on his stained apron and bustled from the side of his trusty ice cream maker. “What are we feeling today?”

Prunella climbed onto the wooden step stool that Mr Gilbert introduced after the whole Chase-on-the-countertop incident. “Pistachio, please. Also, you’ve got cream on your nose.”

Mr Gilbert chuckled. “Righty-ho, young la–”

The bell to the door dinged again, and the momentary opening of the door let in the quiet hustle and bustle of the town centre. A woman who looked simultaneously in her 60s and her 30s came into the shop. Jet black hair streaked with slivers of silver, ruby red lipstick and slicked back bob, Diane Forenski exuded a very specific air of haughtiness. She tended to don a pair of cat-eye sunglasses that covered the warm brown of her eyes.

“Hello dears, out for ice cream?” She asked when she saw the boys at the counter.

“Mrs Forenski!” Mr Gilbert exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “What can I do for you today?”

As if this was her first time dealing with Alfonso Gilbert’s exuberant displays, she let out a dainty giggle that did not pair well with the lines at the corner of her eyes. “Alfonso, nice to see you too.” Diane Forenski reached into her plum-coloured handbag and pulled out a bunch of posters. “Fundraiser posters, and also a few for the weekend bake sale.”

It appeared that her sole mission in the shop was to hand over the posters. She turned to the boys (Prunella had already gone to bagsy her favourite booth) and reached into her bag again. This time, she pulled out a small A5-sized card, embossed with golden filigree patterns at the borders.

“You may have already heard from your grandpa. My grandson is coming from England to live with me and I’m throwing a small gathering in my garden to welcome him. I would love for you boys to come. He should be around the same age as you.”

Having spent his childhood with Chase, the pair had cultivated and adopted a dynamic where Deacon would deal with grown-ups and Chase would deal with kids younger than them. Put them together, and they would be an unstoppable social powerhouse.

“Oh sure thing, Mrs Forenski.” Deacon peered over Chase’s shoulder at the details written on the card. “Next Wednesday at half twelve? We’ll be there.”

Diane Forenski gave an earnest smile. “I knew I could count on you boys–”

“It smells of roses?” Chase interrupted, a light scrunch in his nose as he was briefly overwhelmed with the strong floral scent.

“Yes, dear. I spritzed it with rose water.” Diane reached into her bag again. This time, she brought out a small vial filled with a very pale pink liquid. “Here, rose water. You should tell your grandfather to put some in his macaroons. They taste much better that way!”

Not for the first time, Chase was forcibly reminded of Mrs G with her similar antics.

“Sure,” he chuckled weakly.

Chapter Text

Deacon, of course, had absolutely no intention of honouring his promise with Diane. Chase, on the other hand, was the kind of person who would forget about any kind of promises made with his grandpa’s nemesis the moment they’re out his mouth.

That was all fine and dandy, of course. As per usual, the natural order of the Hollow cousins’ dynamic would dictate that Chase fulfil his lifelong purpose of being the social infantry whilst Deacon, the mastermind behind all their battleplans, would flee for his life.

Only, Deacon forgot to factor in as they walked home that day, that Chase wasn’t half as meticulous as he was. Which led them to this situation.

“Oh, I can’t wait for him to arrive!” Diane tittered at their table. Her bracelet-covered hand hovered over their selection of baked goods. Left and right, pause, and then repeat. Her eyes narrowed in her concentration, but in the end, she straightened her back and gave the offerings a weak glare as if they had mortally offended her.

Grandpa Ralph returned Diane’s glare with a look of distaste so strong Chase could almost hear the faint zapping his laser eyes were emitting. “Wow, Diane! Is your stall so empty that you have this much free time to come to me for a chitchat?”

She lowered her sunglasses, beady eyes on full display. “Not to you, Ralph, to your grandsons. They’re much better conversationalists than you could ever hope to be. Besides, they’re invited to my dear grandson’s welcoming gathering, aren’t you dears? So of course I’m here to talk with them.”

“Oh really?”

“Oh yes.”

It was fairly cool in the town hall despite the summer warmth and almost half the town packed inside the spacious main hall of the town hall building. Bright pink banners were plastered along the walls with multi-coloured ribbons attached to each of the ends. It was the last weekend sale before the annual fundraiser, and grandpa, as usual, had gone all out.

This bake’s theme this time was mermaids, so he went with dusty pinks and blues, dotted with small edible pearls. Chase looked at the frosted merman with wilting despair. Oh goodness, what he wouldn’t give to hide away in a book. With grandpa slowly starting to huff and puff behind him, he would even jump into one of Deacon’s pirate books. Involving a pirate ship. That was how bad it was.

“Boys,” grandpa began when Diane waltzed away from their group, “What was that?”

And almost unrealistically with comedic timing, grandpa’s eyes caught onto the stark whiteness of Diane’s invitation card sticking out from under their cake stand. Grandpa Ralph placed two large hands on Deacon’s shoulders and physically lifted him out the way.

He tugged lightly on the card and then held it to the light to examine the card better with a level of scrutiny that forensic scientists would regard murder weapons.

“What is that doing here!” Deacon hissed to Chase, who flinched as spittle hit his ear.

Chase gave a helpless shrug. “I was thinking I’d return it to Diane…”

Deacon’s eyes bulged with disbelief. Then, pinching his temples and heaving a long sigh, he wondered why he would ever expect anything different. “Really?”

Another helpless shrug from Chase, and then, as if this would help sweeten the situation a little, a forced smile.

Deacon thought of going home there and then. They drove here in grandpa’s truck because they had to transport the cakes, but Deacon would honestly give up that air-conditioned drive home in favour of just leaving Chase here.

A questioning hum came from grandpa, who, at long last, pocketed the card with deliberation. “Wednesday, half twelve,” he muttered. There was a dark glint in grandpa’s eyes and suddenly, Deacon started thinking of all the medical textbooks he had to get through before summer was over.

Other than the blip on the radar that was Diane, the sale had gone fairly well. Chase knew better than to assume that the bake sale was just a bake sale. After Diane had left, it was grandpa’s turn to make his rounds.

He went round to Brenda’s table, and then Margaret’s, and then Evaline’s, rotating through his carousel of conversation topics like a well-seasoned socialite. Yoga, dogs at the park, pilates, and the preservatives in food nowadays, it was a wonder how grandpa didn’t chug his entire water bottle every time he got back to their table. If it had been Chase, he would have traded a kidney for just a single drop of water.

Information gathered and strategic partnerships reinforced, Grandpa Ralph returned home with all but one of his objectives achieved…

“We’ll be upstairs, grandpa!” Chase shouted behind him as he sprinted up the stairs after Deacon.

Grandpa shook his head fondly and refocused his attention on the small card on the kitchen counter.

Diane Forenski cordially invites you to an afternoon garden reception in celebration of her dear grandson’s arrival in Sugar Springs. Please join us for light refreshments, tasteful conversation and a proper toast whilst the sunny weather is still here!

.

Deacon had set a reminder on his calendar and everything. Right as he woke up, his phone buzzed with a pre-approved urgency.

DIANE FORENSKI PARTY - GRANDPA KNOWS - AVOID!

And then suddenly, the schedule that his parents had made him for summer vacation was the holy bible. The schedule said cardiovascular system at ten o’ clock, musculoskeletal system at twelve o’ clock, and so it shall be. Their plans were his command.

He packed his three notebooks into his brown messenger bag and slung it over his shoulder. His room was on the far end of the corridor, and getting downstairs meant passing Chase’s room.

Summoning all the fine muscle control he had over his grip, he carefully turned the handle on Chase’s door with that specific level of force which would allow him to crack open the door silently. Deacon had no idea how the door still hadn’t developed the tendency to squeak in the years he hadn’t been living there, but he wasn’t one to stare a gift horse in the mouth.

Slowly, he poked his head into the room. As expected, the curtains were half drawn and the early morning light filtered through the cotton. The room was flooded with a light yellow that would have woken Chase up normally, but his limbs were splayed half on the wall and half off the bed. His hair, which normally had a strange fluffy quality that liked to defy gravity, was an abysmal case of bed hair. There were faint purple-ish bags under his eyes.

Did Chase go into books after Deacon went to bed last night?

Deacon wouldn’t know. Chase had been acting off lately ever since the Cinderella book, which reminded Deacon–

He let out a small groan as the thought came to his head.

Ah, right, he had forgotten to ask Chase how they got out the book again. His phone buzzed again with the latest round of reminders, and brought Deacon’s mind back to the day’s singular objective: get, out, of, the, house!

“Ah! Deaco–” Grandpa started when Deacon made his way into the kitchen.

“Later, grandpa! I’ve got to get a move on with my studying!”

And out through the door he went. Phew. Deacon didn’t plan to study today, but he might as well head to the library. The latest installment to ‘The Ship of Sorrows' was released a week ago. Surely, the library would have a copy by now!

.

When Chase did eventually wake up and drag himself into the kitchen for his daily bowl of cereal, it was to the sight of a beautiful strawberry-topped chocolate cake. Intricate swirling patterns made from cream lined the border of the cake’s edge, and little cubes of strawberry were tastefully sprinkled onto the cream.

“Woah…”

“Hold it, Chase,” grandpa’s stern voice came with the light smack to his wandering hands. “That’s for the party later.”

Huh, Chase thought, blinking a few more times to properly blink the sleep away. “Diane’s gathering?”

Grandpa Ralph gritted his teeth and sucked in a painful breath. “Yes… Diane’s.”

Chase gave the cake a closer look. It was smaller than usual. It was smaller than usual… maybe it was poisoned?

“This is for Diane?” Chased asked sceptically. See, the cake being poisoned could really be true.

“No. This is for intel.”

A small seed of dread made itself comfortable in Chase’s mostly-empty stomach.

“You’re going to get intel?”

Grandpa smiled, and the seed of dread grew and grew uncontrollably, just like Jack’s magic beanstalk. Except, this time, Chase had no way of climbing his way out of this predicament.

“No, we’re going to get intel.”

.

In the spirit of Grandpa Ralph’s acrid hostility towards Diane, they arrived at the house half an hour before the scheduled start time. Diane, perhaps too used to Ralph’s antics after so many years of rivalry, was already stood outside waiting for their arrival.

“Ralph,” she greeted amicably.

There was a saccharine sweetness to her tone that made Chase’s inside shrivel in disgust. If he weren’t holding the cake, he would have collapsed onto the ground right there and then.

Grandpa Ralph narrowed his eyes at the unpleasant sight, but plastered a smile just as fake as her cloying tone. He peered around her at the empty garden. “Oh what’s this? Did everyone forget about your lovely little gathering? Oh no…” And then to Chase in a very loud whisper, “Looks like I found something more disappointing than Diane’s pies!”

Chase only stared on straight ahead, eyes blank, head empty. Stupid Deacon with his grand plan of escaping to the library. Chase was totally not jealous. Not at all. Pshh, Chase was a professional. He was already used to this.

Diane sniggered behind her hand. “It’s because you’re thirty minutes early, Ralph. If I didn’t know you better, I would have thought you were too eager to read my invitation properly!”

Having exchanged the welcoming volley of insults, Diane led the way to her garden. Grandpa looked like he sucked on an extra-raw lemon as he followed.

Despite Grandpa always being toe-to-toe with Diane in terms of PTA sales and fundraising prowess, Diane’s gardens were one of Sugar Springs’ best kept secrets. Perhaps in the 21st century, the word ‘garden’ would bring to mind a modest-sized four-fenced enclosure covered with grass and the occasional clover. Diane’s gardens, on the other hand, was more reminiscent of a garden nestled deep within a county estate that would feature in one of Deacon’s favourite regency romance books.

Shaped hedges bordered the opening of the garden, where patio furniture was dotted around in a tasteful scatter of beige and white. Strings of deep purple hung between the tops of the topiaries that guarded the garden’s outer edges. A singular ‘WELCOME’ banner was stuck to the wall above the double French doors which opened from a pristine kitchen.

Grandpa gave the white of the kitchen a suspicious glance and then, “See, Chase. A kitchen as clean as that has never seen any actual baking.”

In the kitchen but not out of earshot, Chase heard an airy ‘ha, ha, ha’ come from behind the kitchen island. “That’s just because your grandpa isn’t very well acquainted with the cleaning aisle in the supermarkets, Chase.”

She brought over a cake stand that reminded Chase of a laptop cooler. It had a reserve around the outer circumference that was filled with ice, and little fans on the bottom of the case. At Chase’s look of utter bewilderment, she launched into a delighted retelling of how she had the stand custom-made.

In the garden that slowly started filling up with people from around town and no phone in his pocket, Chase had no option but to watch as the shadows on the ground lengthened. The passage of time in this strange device-less hell was marked by the sun’s westerly journey.

Polite chatter surrounded him on all sides and Chase lamented at the Deacon-shaped absence at his side. Deacon was the one who knew how to talk to other adults, not him. All he wanted to do was watch the latest blurry 360p Star Brigade concert filmed by a well-meaning fan on V-tube back in his room.

Right in his element, Grandpa made his rounds as Diane disappeared from the crowd. “Lousy host,” grandpa muttered as he told Chase to guard the cake. He moved like he was on a mission, flitting between Abigail and Brenda and Gladys and Marilyn. Smiling, politely chatting and then came the deliberate lean inwards coupled with darting eyes as he unleashed the latest run of rumours into the unsuspecting population.

Sugar Springs didn’t know it, but Grandpa Ralph was one of the masterminds behind the town’s rumour mill.

As was usual with any type of gathering, there would be intermittent lulls in the flow of conversation. Chase was all used to it, although he would typically be using these opportunities to locate the princeys of the storybooks he entered.

What did bring him out of his aimless reverie was grandpa’s return to his side. Grandpa Ralph’s strong hand landed on his shoulder and with one strong hoist, Chase was up on his feet, albeit slightly dazed.

“Diane, there you are! And here I thought you had run away!”

As unruffled to grandpa’s backhanded remarks as ever, Diane only tittered in feigned delight. Chase thought that was probably the only sound that would ever come out of her mouth.

“Dearie, of course not. I was collecting my grandson.” Bony hands on slender shoulders, she pushed forwards a boy who was about a head taller than Chase. “Nox, darling, meet Charles. Charles, this is my grandson, Nox.”

Chase’s head shot up like a coiled whip, initially reacting to the sound of his legal name - like, who gave her the right! - and froze mid-action as his gaze met with an all-too-familiar wide-eyed stare of piercing blue.

“Buddy?”

Then, a pause, and then, “You’re… Nox?”

At the same time, Buddy-Nox let out a weak, incredulous whimper.

“Your name is Charles?”

Chapter Text

If there were any chances of pretending that Chase had gotten the wrong person, that ship had long sailed off into the horizon. TOOT TOOT! Chase could almost hear the ship blaring.

“Buddy?”

Buddy-Nox flinched away from Diane’s hold, eyes wide with panic at a situation that was not written, published and bound in a nice, neat book. His already pale face seemed to drain a little more of colour, and Chase realised that Buddy was frozen with shock or terror. Chase wouldn’t know, but what he did know was that he hated seeing that expression on Buddy’s face.

Grandpa and Diane’s voice seemed to fade into the background as they wandered off into the garden. Some vague instructions on playing nice and making friends which Chase paid no heed to.

“Uh… Buddy?” Chase’s voice dropped to a whisper as he inched closer to this new familiar-unfamiliar person. His searching brown eyes took in each curve and dip of Buddy’s risen brows and the slope of his nose. His attention wandered down to the shape of the cupid’s bow above Buddy’s lips before his mind very helpfully made the connection between that particular set of lips and the true love’s kiss they shared.

Blood rushed to his face as his body decided to attempt spontaneous combustion. The boys stood there in silence, equal parts shocked and embarrassed. The white noise of the gathering provided a fuzzy backdrop that melded with the furious roaring of his blood Chase could hear in his ear.

Buddy’s weight shifted as he leaned on one leg. His arms crossed over his body as he adopted a posture that was more typical of the smug, snooty Buddy that featured in Chase’s thoughts more times than he would like. Buddy smirked. “What’s wrong? I know I look good, but you don’t need to stare at me like that.”

Snapped out of his stupor and then immediately taken by a wave of indignation, Chase wrenched his gaze away from Buddy’s mouth. “You–!” he began, but realised he had no retaliatory remarks. After all, it was true, Buddy was all he could think about, and him being there in real life was not helping his case at all.

Buddy stepped closer. His earlier nervousness all gone as he settled into this familiar routine. “Enlightening words, Chase,” was all he said as he continued to watch the flushed face below him, fondness softening the paper mâché barbs in his words.

BUDDY DID NOT HAVE TO STEP CLOSER, THAT LITTLE SOGGY PIECE OF CHALK STICK!

But out of habit, Chase mirrored Buddy and stepped closer until they were eyes to eyes, or at least, eyes to shoulders. It was a little difficult to win this impromptu battle of nerves when he was the shorter party, but regardless he had an ace up his sleeves.

Chase looked Buddy in the eye and mustered all the bravado he was not feeling. “I’ve got chocolate cake,” he said, making sure to pronounce every word down to each letter, slowly, surely, and then witnessing the ego in Buddy’s ice-blue eyes being replaced with desperate want.

It was Chase’s turn to lift his head in victory. Gotcha.

They settled into the lawn chairs next to the table with the cake. Buddy stared at the chocolate cake in clear wanton want. His eyes followed the peaks and troughs of the piped cream until he remembered to start eating the cake rather than just admiring it.

Chase spent a minute or so searching for the cake knife and then realised it was nowhere on the table. “Wait a second.” Buddy trailed aimlessly behind Chase as he entered the kitchen and started rummaging through the drawers.

Various metal utensils clattered around uselessly in their compartments. It was a little cooler in the partially-enclosed kitchen. Buddy chose a far corner shielded by a tall white cupboard and promptly melted into it. He eyed Chase, who was still bent over the drawers.

“Are you sure you know where it is?”

Chase looked up, and saw Buddy with his brow raised sceptically. A flush of fond annoyance shot through him at the warm domesticity of the moment. “Of course not. I don’t make it into a habit of breaking into– ah!” He lifted up the triangular cake slice into the air triumphantly. “See? I knew it’ll be here.”

They returned to the cake, which had still thankfully remained unscathed from attention from the other people at the gathering. Chase hoped it was because the cake seemed too childish for them. Stuck-up adults and their fancy rosé and posh petit fours. There wouldn’t be enough chocolate cake to go around anyways, what with Buddy and his fixation on all things cocoa.

“There,” Chase announced. His pink cheeks were absolutely no-one’s business as he watched Buddy inhale his slice. After serving him a second slice, Chase made to get started on his own.

Now sliced into well-portioned slivers, the cake revealed its three sponge layers that were separated by layers of strawberry-dotted ganache. Chase swallowed in anticipation. It wasn’t everyday he had a full-blown decorated cake to devour. He sunk his fork into the tip of the slice and watched as the cake leaned away from the fork like a miniature tower of Pisa. He skewered the cake and–

“Wait!”

Warm fingers wrapped around his wrist, pushing the offending piece of cake out of its intended trajectory into his mouth.

“Buddy?”

Buddy met Chase’s questioning stare with wide, panicked eyes. His eyes darted from the cake to Chase’s mouth, and then his brows scrunched together in absolute disbelief.

“This isn’t a story book!” he exclaimed, as if that explained everything.

Chase’s entire posture slumped in a way that oozed a tired, world-weary energy as he continued to stare at Buddy in confusion. “I know it isn’t.”

“You–” Buddy sounded exasperated. Now that he was sure Chase wouldn’t just shove the cake into his mouth unprompted, he slowly released his grip on Chase’s wrist. He ate another bite of cake and looked hard into the kitchen they were sat facing with a general air of nonchalance. “You said you can’t eat cake… in real life.”

Realisation hit. Oh. Chase couldn’t help the dopey smile that defiantly made its existence known to the world. He coughed and hacked at his lungs like he was a years-long smoker. “Oh, uh,” he began intelligently, suddenly too aware of the weight of Buddy’s stare, “Uh, my grandpa made this cake. It’s gluten-free, so I can eat it.”

It was Buddy’s turn to blink in confusion now. He examined the slice in front of him like he hadn’t just spent the last ten minutes wolfing it down. And just as Chase was starting to calm his racing heart into order, Buddy tipped his head in curiosity.

“So you can eat things if it’s ‘gluten-free’?” Buddy asked as though he wasn’t about to become a murderer by enticing Chase’s stupid blood-pumping organ to go on strike.

“Yeah!” Chase said a little too loudly. His volume drew a couple of quizzical glances from the party-goers. “Um, gluten-free means there isn’t gluten in… er…” Chase scratched his neck. Turned out other than living a celiac lifestyle, he wasn’t very well-versed in the science behind it. “Deacon would probably know.”

Almost like a knee-jerk reflex, Buddy’s mouth pulled into an exaggerated frown. Could human mouths even turn that far downwards?

“What does Freckles have to do with anything?”

Perhaps Buddy’s mild dislike of Deacon was so commonplace it flew right over Chase’s head, or that Chase’s brain had also gone on strike too.

“Deacon’s studying medicine, so he would know or he would understand…” Chase trailed off, seeing how Buddy had already stopped paying attention to his words. He resumed his cake-demolishing mission with a renewed fervour.

.

It took grandpa a total of four hours to make his rounds and get a good reading on the state of the battleground. Gladys and Brenda were grandpa’s long-time supporters. They built fort over the north-eastern corner of the gardens around a high table of finger foods and flutes of rosé. The group donned comically-sized sunglasses (where did they get those from?) and lowered them whenever someone undesirable walked past just to gossip about them in style.

Chase did not mind. Nope. He. Absolutely. Did. Not. Mind.

Between spending his time flitting through feelings of comfort over Buddy’s presence and a sudden urge to implode onto himself also due to Buddy’s presence, Chase was having a grand old time. Buddy had no problem polishing off the cake and every last of its crumbs hours ago. In the absence of any food-related activity, they sat there in their wrought iron chairs in pained-comfortable silence.

When grandpa finally did saunter over to tell Chase to pack it up, the sun had already started to set. Most of the party crowd had dispersed back to their monotonous weekday schedules. Their shadows stretched long into the pavement in front of them, their surroundings washed over with the golden hue of a setting sun.

Chase felt the empty weight of the cake container drag on his arm as he swung it this way and that, watching as his elongated shadow copied him. A good part of the afternoon had passed in a flurry of startling blue eyes and comments that wielded wit like a weapon, and Chase only found himself still unbelieving of the truth he now knew.

Buddy.

Buddy was here.

Buddy was here in Sugar Springs. He was two, no, three or four streets away from where Chase lived with his grandpa and Deacon.

Chase let his head fall back as he stared up at the candyfloss clouds that streaked the canvas of the sky. He watched as they moved ever-so-slightly with the breeze of wind and wondered how so much could change in just a span of one afternoon.

“–se! Chase!”

Chase’s head whipped around to find that Grandpa Ralph had already crossed the road. “Oh,” he breathed as he did the same. Was it normal to feel this way? Chase didn’t know. Chase scanned the road in front of him. They would reach home in about another ten minutes. Home, where Deacon was.

A lump started to grow in Chase’s throat. He hated being the one to break the news. He hated not knowing how Deacon could react. Deacon had always been the more sensible one. He had been the one to fully comprehend the amount of danger they were getting into when they first started harvesting narratonin. Chase still didn’t want to understand it. All he wanted to do was get along with everyone, Buddy included.

“Chase!” Grandpa called again. “Honestly, how did a little garden party tire you out this much?” He turned Chase around, inspecting him from all the angles golden hour had to offer. When Chase was turned to face him again, his white bushy brows were still scrunched in mild worry. “You had the cake right? And only–”

“Yes, grandpa,” Chase smiled. There was a warm niggling feeling that grew in his stomach and his limbs and his entire body whenever grandpa coddled him. “I had the cake and I only ate your cake.”

Grandpa grunted. By the suspicious look in his eyes, he wasn’t fully convinced but it didn’t take long for him to re-jog his memory over what he had wanted to say. “So! How was he?”

“How was who?”

“The boy, Chase.”

Chase’s brain halted to a freezing, clattering stop. “Oh, erm…”

The usual, his brain supplied rather unhelpfully. Rude, snarky, funny, witty, and oh, his eyes! Sharp as a knife as they darted across the gardens, taking in the atrocious fashion choices of the unfortunate party-goers and mocking their every mannerism just to tease a laugh out of Chase’s tight, tight chest.

“He likes cake,” Chase said lamely.

Grandpa hummed thoughtfully, his hand coming up to rub his chin. There was a twinkle in his eye that grew in intensity the longer he hummed. Chase waited fearfully. That twinkle was often the harbinger of doom. Chase’s doom, to be exact. Like how the twinkle served as a prelude to Chase being sick from sucking on hundreds of lollies in a valiant sacrifice for grandpa’s lolly stick fortress model.

“You should bring the boy back.” Grandpa announced, suddenly seeming very sure of himself.

Chase stared at his grandfather in silence and a tinge of confusion.

“To test his skills out? Chase, come on. The boy’s going to help Diane with her baking. But first, we need to find out if he’s any good. Intel, Chase!”

“... Right.”

But Chase was not alright. His mind immediately tried to conjure up images of Buddy in the kitchen baking. Would he be any good? Buddy always had a knack for being good at a lot of things… although, Chase also wouldn’t mind it if Buddy got cream on his face…

The weight of grandpa’s gaze sobered him. Right. Buddy. Nox. Diane’s grandson. And by extension, a destined enemy of the Hollows.

“R-right.” Chase stammered, “Bring Bud– No– I mean, the boy back. Gotcha.”

.

The house was silent when they came back save for a quiet wheezing noise, which Chase later discovered was Deacon dozing off under yet another grocery store romance book. This time round, it was ‘Saddle Up, My Love!’. Chase pulled a face. Looks like Deacon was still not out of his horse boy era, despite how many shirts have been sacrificed to Boris’s voracious appetite.

They also passed Prunella building yet another fort in their garden, who simply gave them a no-frills, all-purpose grunt as a greeting. Chase had to bite down the instinct to herd her back to her own garden when he remembered that he also had things to hide. He waved back weakly as they entered the house. Should he tell her now? Pull her aside and tell her Buddy was in Sugar Springs?

Chase was in the throes of indecision even during and after dinner. He absentmindedly stabbed at his carrots and chased the peas around his plate. Grandpa revelled in his retelling of his dominance over the garden party to Deacon’s bored nods of agreement.

“How was the party, Chase?” Deacon asked after grandpa settled in properly to finish off his dinner.

Chase knew this was coming. Everything was a-ok. “It was alright,” he answered, his eyes drifting upwards towards the ceiling before remembering the century’s biggest betrayal. “You would have known if you hadn’t snuck off to the library!”

Deacon sputtered. His face turned an unsightly red as he caught grandpa’s nodding. “That’s right, Deacon. You could have helped us with conquering the battlefield.”

“What–! I–! I had to catch up on my studying, you know! Important things! It was the cardiovascular system today!”

“Right,” grandpa said without expression. “I thought your parents told me it was the muscle skeleton system this week.”

“Musculoskeletal, grandpa,” Deacon sighed.

Deacon was left without defence. It didn’t matter. He didn’t usually surrender that easily, but he had achieved his main goal of avoiding a grandpa-included garden party. Whatever.

After dinner and a quick kidnapping of the jungle-seasoned explorer (Prunella) from the great outdoors, Deacon sat everyone down on the floor of the tower. A new Cinderella book laid flat between the circle of humans and keys. Compared to the last one, this leaned more towards a younger audience. The story was simpler, Deacon argued, and they had their hands full with making sure Buddy didn’t explode on them more than he had already over discovering Prunella.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Silver glanced at the ashy tone Chase’s face now seemed to sport.

Prunella had brushed off the incident like a champion, citing that the adventure was nothing more than training for her eventual foray in the Amazon rainforest. It was lucky that any pain that came with turning into book mush was wiped the moment they escaped.

“We’ve got to get this over with,” Deacon said, looking as apprehensive as Silver was. He sighed. “Our reasoning to use Cinderella is still sound. It’s just that we hadn’t planned for the book to fall into the water…”

Chase suddenly sat up straighter, as if something had shocked reality back into him. “Silver, how are you guys feeling? We can do another book if you don’t feel comfortable going back into Cinderella.”

Silver shook her head, a gentle smile on her kindly face. “We’re fine beyond the initial disorientation. I’m just worried about you. You seem… far away today.”

Chase let out a nervous chuckle. That sounded about right. After he had come back from the garden party, he had found it hard to look any of them in the eyes without tactlessly blurting out ‘Buddy’s here!’ He has always had trouble lying - that was why his classmates never let him join their teams for games when he was younger.

After a brief moment brought about by his restless fidgeting, Chase steeled his resolve. He met Silver’s pink tourmaline eyes. “I’m fine, Silver. Thanks for worrying about me.”

The group placed the book inside a wooden crate filled with soft blankets. After the last incident, they were going to make sure nothing remotely similar happened again. Silver, Bronze and Goldie transformed into their keys with a quiet pop! and the group gathered around the book.

“Ready?” Deacon asked.

Chase nodded and Prunella pumped her fist into the air in anticipation.

“Let’s go!”

Chase took a deep breath. Right. One step at a time. First, introduce Prunella to Buddy - properly, this time. And then he can deal with whatever came later.

Chapter Text

The CInderella they were now in wasn't the same version as the one before, where the stepmother began the story with an outdoor stroll, but somehow Buddy had still managed to sneak out of the house for a walk in the woods. So much for following the story, Chase thought sulkily, so it’s okay for Buddy to veer off-course but not for Chase?

Chase stood in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by exposed brickwork which had seen near centuries’ worth of servants come and go. The October chill had made itself home in-between the chips and cracks of the aging masonry and provided an ever-present draft that transformed the kitchen into an oversized fridge. There was a rotund iron cauldron that was sat upon the hearth quietly bubbling away. Ribbons of steam wafted up from the open pot, curling and dancing in the open air. The fire underneath hissed and crackled and popped as it burned through the firewood.

Clarissa’s footsteps echoed on the timber steps as she left the kitchens, each step clacking against the wood with purpose. After pointedly telling Cinderella off for one thing or another – to which Chase only picked his ear in disinterest, thank goodness for storybook vision – she deemed her work done and retreated to the warmer areas of the house to find her sister. Chase waited to hear the door slam shut before he sat down defeatedly on a chair.

There was a heavy weight in his heart. Now that he was in the story, he didn’t feel much like going through with the whole introduce-Prunella-to-Buddy plan… because after that would be…

Chase heaved out a long, heavy sigh. He studied the grooves of the flagstone floor below him and mulled over his options, not that there were any. He knew what he had to do, but the thought of doing them soured like gone off milk.

CLUNK

Chase’s head snapped up at the sound. The door. That had to be the door. That had to be Buddy.

Clarrisa and Beatrice’s list of chores long forgotten, he bolted upwards and rushed over to the backdoor like an over-excited puppy.

“Buddy!”

And he was. There he was in all his glory, dressed in a deep, shimmering purple. Pointy sleeves and figure-hugging bodice as per usual, complete with the familiar rings of statement belts around his waist. The thick cord of the key necklace hung around his pale neck and plunged downwards towards the centre of his chest… which Chase could see…

Oh, a very distant part of his mind realised gleefully, the boob window is back.

Several moments passed, and Buddy cleared his throat, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

“Oh, uh,” Chase sputtered cleverly. “Hi.”

Buddy gave Chase a very unimpressed look. “We saw each other just this afternoon. And Cinderella? Again? After last time?”

“Dea–”

Buddy’s eyebrows rose in faux enlightenment. “Definitely after last time,” he said, with an all-knowing smirk. Chase glowered at the smugness practically radiating off the jerk. Oh how he wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. With a slap. Totally. That was definitely what he was thinking.

He huffed, feeling the blood rushing up to his cheeks. Again.

“It’s because we’re trying to introduce Prunella to you. You know? Like we had planned to?”

Buddy cocked his head to the side and fully settled into leaning against the door jamb. “Right. Before we were nearly killed by the book.”

Chase winced. “Look, we’re super careful this time. It won’t happen again, I promise. I even got Deacon to think of a safe place to put the book.”

Buddy’s eyes narrowed. “Freckles.”

“Who is my cousin! Which you know! I told you that last time!”

“Right.”

“And the whole point of today is to introduce Prunella to you. I…” Chase trailed off. His initial bravado was deserting him much like air rushing out of a punctured balloon. He probably sounded as pathetic as one too. “Listen, Buddy, we– I– I did want to tell you about Prunella. It’s just… I was scared of how you’d react.”

Perhaps calmed down enough in the second run of this Cinderella, Buddy seemed a lot more receptive to what Chase had to say. His expression remained neutral, but the fire in his eyes dimmed to what Chase now knew was a welcoming ember.

“You weren’t very happy when you found out Deacon had a key–”

“That’s because it was Freckles!”

Chase blinked in surprise. Oh, he wasn’t expecting that.

“So you would take it better if it was Prunella?”

At this point, Chase had already sidled up to Buddy’s side, watching him with his wide, honey-brown eyes. There was a faint dusting of pink that graced Buddy’s cheeks as he looked determinedly up to the ceiling.

“That child is much less of an annoyance than your freckled… cousin.”

Relief flooded Chase and the vice grip his earlier anxiety had on his chest loosened. “Oh, um, that’s great! So, we can just go through the motions and we’ll meet up with Deacon and Prunella at the ball!”

“Hm,” Buddy agreed. He slipped his hand into a hidden pocket at the side of his shirt and pulled out a curled-up piece of parchment. He held it up in front of Chase, who, hit with an uncanny sense of deja-vu, immediately knew what this was.

“Bud–”

Buddy made a show of pulling loose the ribbon that kept the parchment rolled up with a flourished movement. And off the parchment went, unrolling and unfurling like it would never end. Chase’s eyes followed the bottom of the parchment as it raced towards the ground, coming to a soft halt jut inches above the floor. The weight of gravity pulled just enough against the loose curl of the parchment to reveal a sarcastic hand-drawn heart on the bottom.

Silence passed between them. Chase was full of indignant (and fond) fury whilst Buddy simply looked like the cat who got the cream. He rolled up the list and placed it into Chase’s hands.

“Have fun,” he breathed into Chase’s ear as he moved past him towards the steps, warm breath tickling the tiny hairs of his skin. Chase fought a shiver.

Chase couldn’t find it in himself to be fully annoyed with Buddy, but whose business was it to care?

.

Chase managed to strike off a hefty number of chores (three) off Buddy’s list before his sensibility returned to him. It had fled Chase at each new instance of Buddy’s close proximity, and this time, it had left the storybook and gone for a little trip around the world. The broomstick he was sweeping the floor with paused mid-air as Chase craned his neck in the direction of the steps.

Maybe…

Chase creeped up the steps, wincing at every squeaky cry the wooden steps gave at each unsatisfactory step he made. Too far to the left, too far to the right, too much weight on the left foot, balance! A flash of irrational fear crossed his mind. What if his dance teacher managed to enter this book? But as a set of stairs?

The corridor leading down to the kitchen was drab and dated. The wallpaper was peeling at the corners and Chase could sense the damp seeping in from the walls. Further out, the corridor led to a service room which was empty bar a large rectangular table with nothing on it except for the singular candle at the centre.

The rooms most frequented by servants in houses like these were tucked away in the crevices of the plot, Chase knew from experience. Out of sight, out of mind. He travelled through more cramped corridors and up more sets of steps that felt like they were about to collapse at any given moment.

The more proper rooms of the house were bathed in sunlight. There was the study, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and also the various drawing rooms, decorated tastefully with polite paintings and chairs that looked good but was torture for the spine.

Chase found Buddy in the morning room, despite it being early noon if his interpretation of the sun’s position in the sky was correct. The room was south-facing with large windows that afforded him an expansive view into the gardens. Even this room, which was one of the better-kept ones, could not hide the signs of disrepair.

In this version of Cinderella, the family had fallen into financial hardship following the stepmother’s heavy spending habits. She spent on herself and gave her two daughters heft allowances with nothing going towards the upkeep of the estate they called home.

Large brocade drapes bracketed the windows. They were originally golden in colour, but now had faded into a dull yellow that was telltale of the grime and dirt that had nestled into the fine gaps between the fibres. If Chase moved closer to the windows, he would have realised that the dulled glimmering of the drapes came from the fabric’s intricate embroidery, weaving a swirling pattern through the fabric with threads of gold. The decadence contained within just this one pair of drapes were a testament to the long-gone wealth of the family.

A layer of fuzzy white, which Chase only realised was dust from the itch in his nose, coated the fabric. Chandeliers above gave off a resigned glow, their shine smothered by the layers of years of dust piling on top of them. Buddy was stood in front of the windows, watching the quickly disappearing shadows of the garden as the sun continued its merciless march across the sky.

Chase’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t dare take another step further. The room felt like a living mausoleum, and Buddy was right in the middle of it. Chase couldn’t reach him.

Sunlight, transformed into something much gentler after filtering through the grimy windows, illuminated each strand of Buddy’s jet black hair and casted a soft glow onto his profile. Stood alone against this backdrop of faded grandeur, Buddy was the very picture of pre-raphaelite tragedy.

Something unknown and heavy grew in Chase’s stomach. He felt a quiet sense of dread lapping against his thoughts. Buddy looked like he belonged right there in this falling, dilapidated period house. He was the long-forgotten nightingale and this extravagant collection of bricks was his gilded cage.

“The invitation will come soon,” Buddy said when he sensed Chase’s presence. And when Chase stayed silent, he turned, sporting a look of mild confusion.

“Buddy–” Chase’s mouth went dry but there was a familiar well of relief when he saw emotion in Buddy’s eyes. “Come down to the kitchens with me.”

Chase’s tone brokered no argument. The fidgety animal that was stomping around in his mind tittered in anxiety. There was no logical reason why Chase was feeling this way, but all Chase knew was that he was so consumed by fear and he needed to get Buddy away from this place.

Concern lined Buddy’s features. “What’s wrong?” he asked, but he still made his way to Chase and held onto Chase’s outstretched hand when he noticed. “Come on then, let’s go.”

They retreated back into the bowels of the house, back into the shadows and away from the light-filled mausoleum, past the yellowing walls and furniture covered in white sheets. Chase could hear the faint thumping of footsteps coming from the stepsisters’ rooms when they passed under them. The iron cauldron was still bubbling away when they returned to the kitchens, having not made any attempts to break free and spill onto the kitchen floor. The chill from the autumn season was still there too, but somehow the warmth of Buddy’s hand in his seemed to ward it away.

Chase swallowed around the stone in his throat. He led Buddy over to the kitchen counter and handed him a knife.

Confusion was clear as day in Buddy’s blinking eyes, but he took the knife without complaint. “Chase? What’s wrong?” He gave Chase’s hand a tight squeeze. Chase had forgotten they were still holding hands.

“Oh,” Chase said, trying and willing his usual exuberance to come back to him. He didn’t know what was wrong either, but death from the memories of the house hung over him. How could he tell Buddy that? Buddy who looked picture perfect amongst the opulence and grandeur of generational wealth? Buddy who looked like a ghost from the past? Buddy who Chase couldn’t reach?

“You’re in Sugar Springs.”

“What?”

Another beat of silence passed, but this was far more awkward than the one they shared between them just an hour ago.

Chase cleared his throat. “Here,” he announced with forced confidence, reaching into the bread basket beside him, grabbing a long baguette and slamming the offending log of bread onto the cutting board. “Cut it.”

Buddy looked absolutely bewildered, and Chase, for whatever sadistic reason, felt strangely much more at home. A smile tugged across his face tentatively before it grew to a grin.

“Cut the bread, Buddy. Aren’t you good with knives?”

Buddy examined the edge of the knife and ran his thumb across the blade, careful not to slice himself. “I never said I wasn’t, but what brought this on?

“I’m trying to help you!”

“Hm,” Buddy replied, eyeing the grin on Chase’s face suspiciously, “That’s not a very good explanation.” But regardless, if Chase wanted chopped bread, chopped bread he would get. In a fluid flash of movement, Buddy brought the knife down hard towards the poor baguette.

CLUNK!

The glass nearby rattled with the sheer force of the strike. The wooden slab they were using as a chopping board held up, although there was a deep gash in the middle where the knife had struck. The bread was sliced in half at an angle, lying in a field of small crumbs that had broken away from the impact.

At the sight of the aftermath and also Buddy’s self-satisfied smile, Chase sputtered in disbelief. “Buddy! I’m trying to see how good you are with knives! This shows nothing!”

Buddy quirked an eyebrow at Chase’s statement. He leaned his hips against the counter and started to pick at his nail beds with the knife. “And why would you want to do that?”

Chase groaned. “I’m bringing you home!” Chase explained very unhelpfully. When he saw the shock on Buddy’s face, he quickly amended, “I mean, my grandpa wants me to bring you home?”

“I’m sorry?”

Chase thought hard for a moment, and then decided, yes, that was as good as it was going to get. “I’ll explain it to you in real life.” He said instead. That can be another headache for future Chase, or he could just kidnap Buddy and let grandpa have his way with him. There, no need for explanations.

“Sure…”

Luckily, Buddy’s line of questioning was cut off by a dull series of knocks against some old, rotting wood. “That would be the front door,” Buddy supplied, “It’s the invitation.” It didn’t sound like a very good front door if it sounded like rotting wood.

They made their way to the front of the house. Clarrisa and Beatrice were already in the courtyard, underneath the shadow of a weather-worn portico. A handsome-looking guard with a strong jaw stood beside a well-maintained horse. The step sisters were already swooning at the sight, dopey smiles plastered across their faces as they fiddled with their hair.

The guard wore a tall cap upon his head that was decorated with braided ropes of deep maroon. The ropes twisted and turned to form a pattern that resembled the royal household’s coat of arms. Clasped in his hands was a scroll of cream-coloured parchment.

“My lady,” the guard said when he saw Buddy. He gave Buddy, the madam of the house as per the storybook vision, a customary bow. Buddy returned with an elegant curtsey that had Chase staring. “By royal decree, all eligible maidens of this house are hereby summoned to attend His Highness the Prince’s ball at the palace this evening. His Majesty would be delighted with yourself and your wards’ attendance at the ball.”

He placed the summons into Buddy’s waiting hands, gave a final nod and started to leave. There was a small messenger bag slung over his shoulder gaping with at least another eight scrolls of summons. When the guard was halfway up the carriageway, the stepsisters, Clarissa and Beatrice, clasped their hands together and squealed with delight.

“Oh, mother! Oh, mother! Did you hear? We’re invited to the ball!” they shrieked.

Buddy winced as he brought a hand up to message the ear closest to them. “Yes, I heard. It was as if I was right there with you. Never mind that, head upstairs and make yourselves presentable. We will depart in a few hours’ time.”

The sisters let out another shrill squeal of excitement at their mother’s words and hurried back through the grand door. They bumped into each other and then the door jamb as they did, and huffed and puffed in preparation for an all-out brawl later in their rooms for the best dress they had.

Chase watched them leave. “A summon to attend a ball the same day? What? Did poor princey forget to send out invites early?”

Buddy snorted. “No, that’s just the time dilation in the books. You know this.” He turned to face Chase and gave an all-over sweep over Chase’s outfit. “You ought to head back into the kitchens and have a cry about the injustice of this all.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not allowed to go to the ball.”

“I know that.”

Buddy rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m sure you do. Now go and cry prettily in the kitchens and collapse onto the floor–”

Chase’s heart skipped a beat. “You think I cry prettily?”

Cough. “I think Cinderella cries prettily. Now, stop bothering me, you little brat, and go follow the story.”

.

As dictated by the story, Buddy and the stepsisters headed for the ball an hour or so before Chase. Crying session and godmother meeting over, Chase was dressed in a fluffy white-grey dress that glittered every which way with each miniscule movement he made. He only had a quick second to admire the fit on his body. The dress, of course, shimmered into nothingness not long after. Silver’s rendition of Cinderella’s outfit was here to stay.

The ball was filled with people with ridiculous updos and pompous chuckles. The outfits worn by the ball attendees were clearly all their Sunday bests. As Chase peeked into the function from the entrance, he had no choice but to squint if he didn’t want to go blind before he reached twenty. There were gold and silver trimmings everywhere, lining dresses, coats, shoes and even socks. Chase’s lips twitched in disgust. Wow, what a bunch of peacocks.

He scanned the peripherals of the ballroom, looking for Deacon and Prunella. Surely they should be up there on the mezzanine floor rather than mingling with the crowd. Chase sure hoped so. He wasn’t going to spend any time looking for them.

On the other hand…

He prepared his eyes again as he braved another round of Where’s Wally, although in Chase’s case, he was looking for one tall spindly-looking man with a tendency for dramatic goth fashion.

Chase spotted Buddy near the refreshments table, pecking listlessly at the proffered array of pastries.

“Psst! Buddy!” Chase hissed as he ducked beneath the gaze of the guards and made his way to Buddy. Buddy gave him an amused look, which quickly turned to bafflement when Chase all but snatched Buddy away from the festivities with a tight grip around his wrist.

They left the castle altogether, exiting through one of the side doors and into a rose garden which had been meticulously pruned for the onslaught of winter. But somehow, the roses themselves were protected by the changing of the seasons with the telltale sparkle of fairytale magic. Their blooms were still bright in colour and strong in the heady scent characteristic of the rose.

Chase led the way into the heart of the garden, stopping only because of the marble fountain that stood in his way. When Chase released his grip on Buddy’s wrist, Buddy’s initial befuddlement had dissolved into fond acceptance.

“What is it this time, miss rogue Cinderella?”

Chase turned to him and gripped both of Buddy’s arms as he sagged comically in desperation. “Buddy! Can you please, pretty please, with whipped cream, strawberries and sprinkles on top, not tell Deacon and Prunella about you being here in Sugar Springs? I’ll even give you another pack of King bars, lifetime access to my Star Brigade hoodie and maybe my soul if you agree! I just need to find the right time to tell them and they are not going to take it well if they find out now!”

Despite being faced with such a tempting offer, Buddy had the gall to mull it over. Chase watched Buddy like a hawk, examining every minute twitch of Buddy’s brows and hitch of his breath as he turned it over in his mind.

“I suppose–”

“You suppose? Buddy! This is the deal of a lifetime!”

Buddy hummed, clearly not paying attention to Chase’s protests. “Chocolate, hoodie, and your soul?”

Chase clasped Buddy’s hands in his and brought it up to his chest. His wide eyes sparkled wetly like a begging puppy. “Yes, yes, yes. Now, please tell me you won’t tell Deacon and Prunella!”

Buddy smirked, and gave their connected hands a light tug, bringing Chase closer – way too close! – to him. “You should say ‘please’ more.”

Chase’s breath had stubbornly made a U-turn down his throat. Silence drew out between them, broken only by the constant whooshing of the water of the fountain behind them and also Chase’s totally not loud breathing. Very distantly, the music and polite chatter of the ball could be heard, but at that very moment, all that Chase could hear was that thump, thump, thumping of his heart as blood roared furiously in his ears.

“But,” Buddy purred, gaze sweeping over Chase’s flushed face, “I will agree on this occasion. Let your freckled friend–”

“Cousin.”

“–cousin know that I will answer three of his questions when he finds out.”

Huh. Confusion clouded Chase’s mind, even if that confusion was thin and wispy in comparison to the thunderstorm of emotions Buddy had concocted inside his heart. “Why?”

Something teasing gleamed in Buddy’s eyes. “Because he’s more level-headed than you are, and you’re far too trusting.”

Cogs whirred to life in Chase’s head. It wasn’t fair. Ever since the last Cinderella book, Chase’s brain had been working non-stop. He was overheating from all this thinking.

“That’s a compliment, right?”

Buddy only smiled, and stepped away from him.

Like there was something magnetic in the curve of Buddy’s lips, Chase’s feet followed him.

“That was a compliment, right? Right?”

Buddy observed the shine of the moon past the carved cherub at the top of the fountain. As he was already familiar with, time in storybooks passed differently. The moon would continue to hang in the night sky and it would continue to be night as long as the story required it to be. Which meant he had all the time in the world.

After a moment, he turned back to Chase with an arm behind his back and another outstretched towards Chase. He tilted his head in an unspoken invitation, if the smirk on his lips didn’t count as one.

And when Chase didn’t react, he sighed.

“Come on, then. The night is young and I believe I’m owed a dance from a certain Chase Hollow, Like and Follow.”

Chapter Text

There must be some sort of limit on the number of times someone could blush without it being unhealthy. If there were, then Chase was decidedly way past the stage of being an acute flustered mess, and was very comfortably in the full-blown hot mess stage that could easily mobilise an entire city’s firefighting force.

“When did I ever owe you a dance?” Chase asked petulantly, arms crossing in an immediate response to the rapidly thumping heart of his. The traitor.

“Perhaps when someone decided to wreck the storyline and slap a poor innocent soul?” Buddy fluttered his lashes at Chase, and brought up a delicate hand to caress the cheek Chase had so viciously slapped like a barbarian several books back.

Chase sputtered, “P-poor innocent soul! That was–” and swallowed his words when his gaze landed on Buddy’s inviting hand. “I mean, I suppose, I can show you what a prodigy with ten years’ of dance lessons can do. You better not drag me down.”

Their hands met and Chase fought back an instinctive flinch as a shock of static flared between them. Buddy placed his hands on Chase’s shoulder and the small of his waist, pulling ever-so-slightly to keep Chase as close to him as possible.

“I’ll have you remember that I am an amazing dancer. I also recall you having a personal crisis during the Honour Among Thieves story.”

Did it count as blushing if Chase’s face was already red from Buddy’s onslaught?

“Shut up,” he muttered, for a lack of better comebacks. “Let’s just dance.”

“Alright.”

They had no hired orchestras at their bidding or golden light scattered from chandeliers overhead. Instead, Chase and Buddy were surrounded by winter-defying roses and the gentle whisper of the fountain behind them. Silver moonlight lit their impromptu ballroom in an act of inanimate benevolence, and the soft illumination made Buddy’s already striking eyes sparkle like the most precious gemstones.

Buddy led them through the characteristic starting steps of a waltz. The tempo of the dance accompanied Chase's pounding heart. Their feet drew a swirling pattern around the base of the fountain, and they swayed in time to the tick-ticking of Buddy’s internal metronome, who faithfully tapped out the beat of the silent waltz they shared onto the flesh of Chase’s hand.

Buddy’s constant taps condensed into a quiet buzz that travelled through Chase. He forced his breaths to even as he braved a look at Buddy, who met his eyes with an openness that Chase was unused to. His heart raced. He had to tear his gaze away, consumed by a fear of what he would do if he kept staring for too long.

Chase felt Buddy’s grip on his hand tighten as he propelled Chase outwards for a casual spin. Without missing a beat, Chase spun back to Buddy and returned his hand onto Buddy’s shoulder just as fluidly as he had left. The moment between them passed without words, but their motions spoke volumes. Chase still wasn’t sure where they stood, or what was going to happen with the keys now that Buddy was in Sugar Springs, but right now, at this moment, he was sure in this, whatever this was.

He was sure in the gentle pressure of Buddy’s grip on his hand, and in the warmth radiating off Buddy’s palm and onto his waist. He was sure in the soft smile Buddy wore so freely on his lips, and in Buddy’s trailing eyes as he directed Chase into another spin.

There was a ball of tender emotions within Chase that swelled with each breath that they shared. Somewhere very distantly in Chase’s mind, he knew he was doomed. How had he not realised this before? He was already too far gone.

A reciprocal wave of fear welled up in his chest, and Chase’s eyes searched Buddy’s for some sort of anchor on instinct despite knowing Buddy was the very cause of his fear. He was afraid of what he might do, with Buddy so close to him and the press of their entwined hands ever-present in his subconscious. Perhaps he’d lean closer and press a tender kiss against Buddy’s lips or squirrel himself further into Buddy’s embrace. The urge to do just that was starting to eat at him.

Goodness, he hoped Buddy wouldn’t ask him to hand over the keys. He wouldn’t, of course. Totally. But he might spend a minute or two wanting to cave into Buddy’s every demand if that meant he would receive a small smile at the end of it all.

The orchestra in the ballroom swelled to a roaring crescendo that carried out into the gardens, and Buddy gave Chase another twirl. That seemed to be his favourite thing to do, apparently.

They were evenly matched in their skills and tempo, but Buddy moved with an ease that belied a deliberate grace. Chase was his starving beggar, lapping up every spare touch or smile Buddy was happy to give away.

Near the end of their third round around the fountain, the symphony inside reached its natural end, with a lone violin echoing the piano’s dying melody. Its last note sang a tone higher, like an unanswered question or an unfinished prayer.

Somehow, in perfect timing, there was the animated rustle of leaves nearby as someone – or someones – broke through the maze of rose hedges and into the heart of the garden.

“Chase!” He heard Deacon’s voice cry out, and Chase was sure Buddy had too but he showed no signs of paying attention to their new audience and instead decided to guide Chase into yet another series of spins and twirls. And Chase complied. How could he not?

On and on he spun, like a little top at the whims of a merciless toddler. Each time he completed a full circle, his eyes would catch Buddy’s, which twinkled in obvious delight.

When, at last, Buddy was satisfied with the wait he had imposed on Deacon and Prunella, he allowed their dance to fizzle out into a genteel end. They finished facing Deacon and Prunella. Buddy’s arm was curled around Chase’s front, pressing him against his torso as they waited for their breaths to even. Even then, under Deacon’s suspicious eyes, Chase’s breath matched with Buddy’s.

“Wow.” Prunella said flatly, looking most unimpressed with Buddy’s antics. She stomped away from Deacon’s frozen figure and stopped in front of Buddy, whom Chase had to hastily detangle himself from with a flush. “I’m Prunella,” she said, arms akimbo.

“I’m–”

“Are you Chase’s Buddy?”

Chase coughed loudly next to him as Buddy froze momentarily, stunned by the directness of Prunella’s question. Deacon, who was left standing near the outer edges of the garden’s heart, looked like he would rather dissolve into the ground and become fertiliser for the roses. Or fall into the roses, whichever was easiest.

Buddy studied the little girl closer, noticing her puffed-out chest and her furrowed brows and knew he was dealing with someone as headstrong as Chase was.

With Chase, he preferred to tease, his little volcano of an idiot, but with this little girl who looked like she would kick someone where the sun doesn’t shine for the slightest of offence, Buddy chose another option.

He kneeled down to meet Prunella at eye level and then, “I suppose you could say that.”

Chase coughed even harder beside him. Buddy absentmindedly wondered if he was trying to hack up his lungs.

.

By the time they were booted out of the story, introductions were completed with no yelling (from Buddy) or biting (from Prunella). Chase would class that as an all-round victory, given the lack of emotional or physical damage.

It was summer, but thankfully the summer heat had faded with the passage of the day. The sky painted a portrait of deep blue and flaming orange, dotted by scattered gatherings of clouds whose bellies were illuminated with a streak of candy pink. The sky’s slow descent into the darkness had only just started, but the full moon hung stubbornly high against the blank canvas of the sky, flanked by a few loyal twinkles of starlight.

“Well! That wasn’t too bad!” Prunella scrambled up from where she landed on the floor, her arms akimbo and nose stuck up high in a job-well-done manner. “I don’t see why you guys were so scared of him. He’s fine.”

Deacon and Chase exchanged withering looks. Ha. That was funny.

“Prunella, you don’t understand. You didn’t see what Buddy was like when I first met him,” Deacon complained somewhat petulantly. He had obviously hoped he could find a comrade in Prunella, but she was completely fooled by Buddy’s niceties. “He was, like, super intense! Got up close and personal and he was all ‘oh no one needs you’, ‘you can draw in the dirt back home’, and ‘leave, you filthy peasant’.”

Chase, who was in the middle of offering Silver a lift on his hand, paused as he processed Deacon’s words. “Wait, he actually said that to you?”

Deacon let out a sheepish cough. “Well, not exactly. But he was still super mean!”

“Yeah? If he was mean to me, I’ll just bite him.”

Prunella was having absolutely none of it. She had made already her assessment of Buddy (tall: 7, cool: 5, deadly: 1) and she wasn’t changing her mind. Besides, Prunella was going to live in the Amazon one day and raise a unicorn farm. Buddy was nothing but a hay bale of dried marshmallows and sprinkles for her unicorns in the grand scheme of things. Pssh.

The conversation tapered off, and Prunella and Deacon made the motions to start lowering the tower ladder to call an end to the day’s adventure.

“Uh, guys,” Chase called out, his throat drying up again at the thought of what was coming. “Can you stay for a bit longer? I have something to tell you.”

Deacon’s eyebrows rose in question and his body language morphed into that of a pouty toddler on a long road trip. Story time was done and Buddy was dealt with. According to Deacon’s calendar app, it was now time to devour the last chapter of ‘Saddle Up, My Love’ and move onto its sequel ‘Riding into her Heart’ which Deacon already had ready at his bedside table. He was a very busy man, which was something Chase didn’t seem to understand.

“What’s up!” Prunella settled back into a cross-legged position in the middle of the tower. Silver, Bronze and Goldie gathered around her as they all turned their attention to Chase.

All pairs of eyes on him, Chase could feel the seconds tick by as unreluctantly as sticky treacle syrup flowed. He took a deep breath. Right, it was now or never, and he had learned with Buddy that taking charge was always better than waiting for the truth to explode in his face.

“Well… Buddy’s here. In Sugar Springs.”

There were a few short moments of silence when the words had flown over their heads before they all grasped the meaning behind them. The room erupted into noise, which quickly quietened down in fear of attracting Grandpa Ralph’s attention.

“He’s here!” Deacon repeated, eyes bulging out in disbelief. “Chase! What!”

Prunella took the news a little better. She reached up to scratch her nose in disinterest. “Cool.”

“Not cool!” Deacon shot back. He shuffled hastily towards Chase and grabbed him by his arms. Chase winced at the sudden force. “Chase, what did you say?”

Chase sighed. He was feeling much better now that the secret was out despite Deacon’s harsh grip. “I said, Buddy’s here.”

“He’s found us?” Colour started to drain away from Deacon’s face and his hands quivered where they were still holding onto Chase.

Panic raced through Chase’s mind in reflection of Deacon’s own quickly rising horror. “No! No! At least, I don’t think so. Deacon,” Chase ripped Deacon’s hands away from him. It was now his turn to hold onto his cousin’s shoulder and give him a little shake. “Deacon, calm down. He didn’t come here to find us, at least, I don’t think so. Honestly. Hand on heart and hope to die and all that.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, you mean,” Prunella chirped in, being very unhelpful.

But Deacon wasn’t listening. He had already shaken Chase off with lightning speed and started to tread lines into the tower floor.

“Right, Buddy’s changed a lot since we met him,” Deacon mumbled, “well, not changed, per se, but mellowed? Definitely mellowed out. He didn’t seem too bad the last few times we’ve seen him, but–”

Chase watched Deacon pace back and forth, and by the third lap, he finally understood Buddy’s foresight.

“Deacon!” he shouted. And when that still didn’t get Deacon’s attention, he gave Prunella a grim nod, granting her permission for her very special brand of chaos. Prunella, kudos to her (or maybe not), had already moved away from the centre of the tower and melted into the shadows borne by the walls. She had seen this coming.

She eyed Deacon and mentally plotted his short journeys from the south side of the tower to the north. After allowing him a few more laps for good measure, she stuck her leg out with such force and precision that when Deacon fell face first into the floor, he had no idea what had tripped him.

“Wha–?”

“Deacon!” Chase bodily hoisted Deacon’s lanky limbs up, around, and down again like a limp doll and sat on his stomach. Never one to miss out on any fun, Prunella joined in and claimed her rightful throne on his knobbly knees. (PS: they weren’t very comfortable)

Despite how barbaric it may appear, Chase had decided that was the only way to make sure Deacon didn’t fly off into the sunset out of sheer anxiety.

A pregnant silence enveloped the room, broken only by Chase’s and Deacon’s heavy breathing. Chase’s analogue clock down in his room ticked steadily through the whole ordeal, but its sound travelled into the attic. Eventually, Deacon’s eyes lost that glassy sheen of terror.

Chase continued, “I was going to say before you started panicking, that Buddy said he would answer any questions you have. Only three, though, because It wouldn’t be Buddy if there wasn’t a limit. That would be too nice of him… He would probably break into hives if that happened.”

There was a short-lived struggle as Deacon fought to regain his mobility. He kicked Chase in the stomach (affectionately) and lifted Prunella out the way. “Right,” he said after finally recovering his senses and sensibilities, “three questions?”

Chase “yupped” cheerfully, glad to see the situation return to normality, what with Deacon’s furrowed brows and quick plans already forming inside that brainy head of his.

“Do you think he would answer us truthfully?”

The smile on Chase’s face faltered. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I don’t think Buddy would say something like that if he wasn’t going to take it seriously in the first place.”

Deacon nodded, already drifting back to his thoughts. Per his half-baked analysis of Buddy’s character, it would be uncharacteristic for him to lie to Chase. Maybe he would to Deacon, but definitely not to Chase. Deacon had seen the way Buddy’s eyes follow Chase’s every movement when he thought Chase wasn’t looking, and that look of satisfaction whenever Chase cried out in joy at something or the other.

“That’s true,” Deacon relented finally. “You would know him better anyways, Chase.”

Pink dusted Chase’s cheeks. “What? No… Pssh. That’s ridiculous.”

Prunella shot Chase another unimpressed look. She crossed her arms and wondered fearfully whether the human brain started to regress after puberty. She hoped not. She didn’t want to be like Chase. Who was a dumbass, and made her hold hands to cross roads like she was a little kid.

Besides, her emotional intelligence was already more advanced than Chase’s, and he was ten years older than her! Prunella was going to be fine… she hoped. But at least she would notice if someone looked at her like she hung the stars in the sky.

Silver tugged on Chase’s trousers. “What do you think, Chase?” At Chase’s look of confusion, she elaborated. “What do you think about all this? Do you think he came to find us?”

Chase thought for a second, although that wasn’t at all necessary. He knew what his answer was deep down in his bones. “No. I think this is all just a coincidence. He didn’t plan to be Diane’s grandson after all.”

CRASH, went Deacon’s glass of water.

“Chase. What.”

At this, Chase desperately recalled what he had said in the last ten, twenty minutes. Oh. Had he not mentioned this yet?

“Uh, he’s Diane’s grandson–”

“CHASE!” An unholy screech ripped out of Deacon’s throat as he bent over in dismay. “You didn’t think to say this before?”

“Uh…” Chase looked at Silver for support. She frowned at him and shook her head helplessly and Chase was about to hang up his towel until his brain stuttered to a stop. “Wait,” he said. His eyes narrowed as he played his conversational ace of spades. “You would have known this from the start if you were there at Diane’s party! Deacon! You would have known if you hadn’t abandoned me to the wolves and sneaked off to the library!”

Deacon shrunk back as Chase roared forwards in both his height and volume. When faced with fight or flight, Deacon heartily chose flight. “I’m going to go think of some questions for Buddy!” he shouted as he climbed down the ladder with an agility that usually evaded Deacon’s grasp with as much disdain as Boris the horse held for the lanky man.

“Wait!” Prunella hurried down the ladder after him. “I want to ask questions too!”

“If you want your questions, you should go and ask Buddy for them! These are my questions!”” Chase heard Deacon shout from the hallway.

As the clatter and noise from Deacon and Prunella died down, he slumped against the boxes piled high near the walls, slowly sliding down to the floor.

“Chase.” Silver approached him with a knowing smile. She was holding her narratonin vial, which was filled to the top with the sparkly turquoise liquid. Chase lifted it from her offering hands and examined it against the dying light. Huh. “Looks like you’ve been having fun?”

Chase felt his cheeks warm. “I–” he began. Chase’s mind was torn in two directions. “It was fine. Just the usual Cinderella things, you know? And also, uh, I’m sorry for not telling you about Buddy first.”

Silver giggled. Her pink tourmaline eyes twinkled out of sight as laughter forced her eyes shut. “It’s alright, Chase. You still told us in the end. But I’m glad everything seems to be settling down.”

Chase nodded. His eyes lingered on the vial. This was one of the very few times he’s earned a full vial, and each of those times had something to do with Buddy. Maybe Buddy was his lucky charm…

.

The next morning, armed with one dog-eared notebook, two heavy eyebags, and three mugfuls of caffeine in his system, Deacon was ready to face the world. He had spent all night scratching away at his notebook, fending off a half-feral Prunella and poring over his character analysis of Buddy. After several pages of shortlisted questions, he had finally whittled it down to his final three.

Commander Deacon was back in action.

A weak breeze tickled his nose and he fought the urge to scratch at it. Breathe, Deacon. Look menacingly into the distance! Be the commander that you are!

“Uh… Deacon?” Chase tapped his shoulder. They were stood in front of Diane’s house. The sun was high up in the sky behind them, threatening to engrave its existence into the memory of their flesh with a nice, healthy sunburn. “Let’s… go?”

Deacon harrumphed. He cleared his throat purposefully. “Yes, of course.” But before he could even lift the brass door knocker from its resting place, the front door swung open to reveal Diane beaming at them with the power of the mid-afternoon sun.

“Boys!” she exclaimed, her arms flung wide open as if expecting a hug. Deacon shuffled forwards and mechanically moved his limbs in a manner that resembled one. “I’m so glad you’re here! Come! Come in! Nox’s bedroom is on the first floor - feel free to head up there! I’ll just prepare some snacks for you kids!”

Diane was gone in a flash. Like Mrs G, she was also a master of her craft, and her craft was hosting. Chase and Deacon had run into her a few times whilst out and about, and whilst she was grandpa’s mortal enemy, she was genuinely a sweet lady, if a little pretentious and snooty.

But then, considering who her grandson was, it all made sense.

“Come on then, Deacon,” Chase said, making his way up the stairs. “Those questions aren’t going to ask themselves.”

The pair padded up the stairs, their footsteps muffled by the snow-white carpets that ran the length and width of the house. The stairs led to a corridor that fed off into a few different rooms. Strangely, most of the doors were open, allowing the late morning light to flood through. The only door that was out of the ordinary was the one at the end of the corridor, closed and nestled in a corner shadows liked to frequent.

That had to be Buddy’s room. It had his signature doom and gloom all over it.

Chase thought about that line a little harder. No, it didn’t make sense necessarily, but Buddy was all dark colours. Inky-black hair and charcoal wit… although the other parts of him were plenty colourful. Sparkling eyes and alabaster skin and cherry-red lips…

“Let’s go!” Chase announced loudly, pretending that everything was fine in his life and that if he spoke loudly enough, his words would also become his thoughts.

Deacon followed close behind his cousin as Chase cracked open the door and stuck his head in like a very clueless ostrich. He scanned the room and immediately located the grumpy man in question. Deacon was still trying to fit his head into the gap of the door when Chase released the door from his grip and beelined for the still-sleeping Buddy.

Buddy’s small double bed was tucked into a corner. Like how he had been during their foray into the beach book, Buddy slept like a princess. His limbs were artfully draped across his various pillows (honestly, how many pillows did one man need?) and his fringe fell over his eyes like a silky-black waterfall.

Chase was absolutely entranced. He rested his head on his folded arms as he continued to watch, mesmerised.

He hadn’t seen Buddy asleep before. The beach book didn’t count. This, this was different. Buddy looked so soft and open. That perpetual furrow between his brows were finally gone and his nose wasn’t scrunched up in disdain.

Buddy looked beautiful. Chase melted a little more against Buddy’s bed as he drank in the sight, his heart finally on the same page as his brain and working hard to pump red-hot blood around his body.

Deacon, on the other hand, was left standing there at the door, feeling a little like an old toy thrown away in favour of the new one in the window display. He rolled his eyes at Chase, careful not to overdo it. With the amount of caffeine in his veins, he probably could dislocate his eyes with the amount of exasperation he was feeling.

On behalf of his besotted cousin, Deacon opted to do the smart thing and actually take in their surroundings instead of beelining for the first pretty person they saw.

Buddy’s room was… plain. There were no rhinestones or sparkly things. It was out of character. Boring.

An uncomfortable feeling made itself home in Deacon’s guts as he took in the bare walls and empty shelves, devoid of any personal belongings or trinkets. The room was tastefully decorated, no doubt by Diane, who seemed to have consumed the same batch of Architectural Digest as his mother. The walls were a smooth cream with grey mouldings that lined the perimeter of the ceiling.

A small itch grew at the tips of Chase’s fingertips. It only took a few more heartbeats for the itch to overpower the few last shreds of self-control Chase had. He reached forwards with gentle hands and started to sweep Buddy’s fringe away from his eyes. That surely wasn’t a comfortable way to sleep. Chase was just being his usual magnanimous self. He was helping Buddy!

Buddy’s eyelids fluttered at the breeze Chase’s hands created and slowly opened them to see what had disturbed his sleep. He jolted away from Chase’s touch on instinct, not expecting anything or anyone to be so close to him, but when Buddy’s sleep-muddled brain took in the fluffy blond hair and honey brown eyes, anxiety left his body as quickly as it entered.

“Hey,” Chase whispered, a dopey smile on his face.

Buddy’s eyes opened and closed in a slow blink, drinking in the sunshine before his eyes. “Hm,” he purred, lifting up his hand to capture Chase’s and then bringing it to rest on his cheek.

Chase’s breath hitched as he watched Buddy lean into his hand like his favourite pillow. With the gentle pressure from Buddy’s hand-face sandwich and the sleepy heat that he radiated onto his immobilised hand, Chase felt as though the entire cosmos had condensed into this single meeting point.

Neither of them were given any warning before Deacon’s “AHEM! I AM GOING TO THE TOILET. AH, I’M SO DESPERATE!” shattered their shared moment. The door slammed in Deacon’s haste to evacuate the crime scene.

The interruption seemingly shocking some energy into Buddy’s lethargic body, he sat up grouchily and rubbed his eyes. It didn’t appear to do much though, as Chased observed the lingering sleep that still blurred his vision.

Now released from the sudden Buddy-triggered enchantment, Chase leaned back against his arms as he took a look around the room. His gaze didn’t travel far before it fell on the turquoise-black bag that was oh-so familiar.

Twin flares of joy and amazement bloomed inside him. “Buddy, is that my bag? You kept it?”

Angry splotches of fuchsia appeared on Buddy’s face. WIthout a word, he snatched the bag from Chase in a fluid motion that was uncanny against the sleepy warmth that still clung onto him. “It seemed like a waste to leave it,” he muttered, eyes darting here, there, and everywhere except for Chase’s face.

The moment was short-lived however thanks to Deacon’s ever-nearing stomps. A small traitorous part of Buddy thanked the stars and back for Freckle’s timely appearance, but what came out his mouth was “Does your freckled fri–”

“–cousin”

“–cousin not know how to walk properly?”

Chase’s mouth stretched into a fond smile at Buddy’s enduring dislike towards Deacon, but when he remembered the bag that was still proudly displayed in Buddy’s lap, panic surged through him.

“Buddy!” Chase hissed, lunging towards him. Buddy flinched backwards with his quick reflexes. His built-in setting to antagonise Chase immediately took over and Buddy raised the bag high over his head.

“What are you doing!” Buddy yelped as Chase clambered over his body like a crazed chihuahua.

Their impromptu scramble for the bag continued with frenzied, waving hands and limbs that were getting more tangled by the second. At one point, Chase’s knee somehow sunk into the softness of Buddy’s abdomen and knocked the air out of him.

“The bag! Buddy!” He cursed inwardly at Buddy’s height, even when he had the added advantage of trapping the man beneath him. Buddy stretched under him, determined to foil Chase’s plan even if he didn’t know what was happening, and all Chase could do in his hopeless pursuit was to follow suit.

There was only one problem though.

Which was, see, when Buddy tried to stretch further away, his lithe body arched towards Chase’s like a strung bow.

Oh, Chase supposed there were two problems.

The second one being that when Chase also tried to stretch towards the bag, his body lowered towards Buddy’s like an angel’s rapid descent into hot, hot hell.

Chase froze. Their faces were inches away, and Chase could see all the speckles of light reflected in Buddy’s bright blue eyes.

The door slammed open.

“YOU–” Deacon began, but the words died in his throat just like his will to live.

Chase scrambled upright, but not before leaning further over Buddy to swipe the bag away from him, and then stuffing it behind his back as he awkwardly sat on Buddy’s bed.

“Uh, hi Deacon.”

The corner of Deacon’s mouth twitched in a failed attempt at normalcy. Thunderclouds began to gather around him as he shot Chase a stern look that said ‘get back here, young man’.

Nervous chuckles bubbled out of Chase without his consent and he quickly clambered off the bed. He fired a meaningful look at Buddy as he shoved the bag behind Buddy’s back.

Baton now passed on to his somewhat reliable team mate, Chase sheepishly returned to Deacon. The silence stung in Chase’s ears. Combined with his fiery embarrassment, the silence took on a loud high-pitched whine. His thundering heartbeats were also loud. Deacon’s glare was also loud.

If the situation had been any less awkward, Chase would probably crack open a mother hen joke at Deacon’s expense but being caught in such a compromising position by his older cousin was absolutely mortifying. If Chase saw a shovel in the next ten minutes, Diane’s gardens were going to be home to one frantically dug, six-feet deep hole. Which he was going to crawl inside. And never emerge from…

…unless Buddy coaxed him out. But that was another story altogether.

Chase satisfactorily cowed, Deacon cleared his throat and casted his mind back to what he was going to say before his eyes were scorched from their rightful homes by his thoughtless cousin.

“Right. Buddy, you have a jacuzzi?”

Chapter Text

“What’s a jacuzzi?” Buddy asked, meeting the incredulity in Deacon’s eyes with equal confusion. The surprise of the events just now – Chase in his room, Chase in his bed, Chase on top of him and then Freckles’s rude interruption – dissipated.

Deacon stood at the door, one arm stretching protectively across Chase to bar Buddy’s easy access to him. His mouth gaped open at Buddy’s nonchalance as his face cycled through all the colours of the rainbow. Buddy was an absolute enigma. He had no idea how Chase put up with him.

In the end, Deacon simply pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Follow me.”

Less than ten minutes later, Buddy’s wardrobe sufficiently rummaged through for swim shorts, the boys found themselves sitting against the perimeter of the newly-discovered jacuzzi. Whilst the tub itself was obviously high tech, it did nothing to alleviate the severe discomfort of the situation. The tap did its best as it sputtered noisily to spit out water with all the might and power of an energetic garden hose, but surrounded by frigid conversation – or the lack thereof – the water level only inched upwards at a torturously slow pace.

Chase plastered a strained grin on his face as he watched and silently willed the water to rise faster. He wouldn’t have any complaints if it covered the top of his head too. Anything to get him out of this situation – sitting practically naked in a hot tub (if not for their pilfered swim shorts) with his visibly uncomfortable cousin and an apathetic Buddy. He was trying really, really hard not to think about Buddy’s bare chest and arms and legs and oh my god. Chase’s brain needed to be exorcised. He was clearly being taken over by something evil (and pervert-y).

A crazed burst of laughter forced itself out of Chase in a feeble attempt to fill the vacuum of civil pleasantries. Clearly neither Deacon nor Buddy had inherited any social sense from their grandparents. “I’m going to mess around with the settings!” Chase announced, bolting up straight and immediately starting to investigate the controls panel out of pure desperation. Deacon brought his hands up to shield himself from the water. Buddy only looked at him in disgust when the water splashed into his face.

Oh god, why had Deacon found the jacuzzi? Didn’t he just say he needed the toilet? A jacuzzi was not a toilet! Chase thought frantically as he jabbed fruitlessly at the controls panel.

And why had Buddy just gone, “Wanna try it?” when Deacon presented the jacuzzi like he had been temporarily possessed by the spirit of a 19th century circus ringmaster!

Chase bashed in a random pattern onto the panel and despaired when the tub returned with a series of angry beeps. He also despaired at the very visible efforts Deacon went to to sit the furthest away from Buddy as he could. If Buddy weren’t here, or if he wasn’t so busy denouncing his will to live, Chase would have given Deacon some very sage advice somewhere along the lines of MAYBE DON’T PUT YOURSELF IN THIS SITUATION IN THE FIRST PLACE!

“Chase–” Deacon began, lifting up a tentative hand before Chase whipped his head back to glare daggers at him.

“No!” Chase punched in another set of mythical patterns with false bravado. Truthfully, Chase had long given up and was only operating on a system of ‘whatever button I see, I push’. “I’ve got this! I swear– aha!”

Right on cue, after blue lights flashed a quick circuit around the tub, air started to come out of the nozzles. Washed over with the glow from a hard-earned victory, Chase settled down in the tub between Buddy and Deacon, thankful for the constant bubbling and spluttering of the water covering up their palpable silence.

There was a bright yellow rubber duck which Chase had found during his prolonged battle with the controls panel. He threw it into the tub in desperation – anything to distract him from the awkwardness! The duck sported a giant hat with a Union Jack design. It bobbed up and down in the tumultuous seas of the jacuzzi.

Carried by the thundering currents of the Great Forenski Ocean, Sir Ducky Duckington the third adventured its way into the atoll formed by the top of Buddy’s knees poking above the water. Buddy, who stared at the floating mimicry of a waterfowl, nudged it away from him with mild distaste.

Alas!

Cruel fate, with his inky hair and moonstone eyes, had rejected it!

And off Sir Ducky Duckington the third went, throwing caution to the wind as it beckoned the call of the sea once again.

It took less than thirty seconds for Deacon to fully melt into the water. Face flushed and eyes closed in contentedness, Deacon slid down into the water until the bubbling of the water burst against the underside of his chin. Chase glanced at Buddy too. Buddy was sending Deacon looks of disapproval, but Chase could tell he was enjoying their impromptu spa time.

Buddy had always haunted his every waking thought since the very first moment they met, and even more so after the cat book when Buddy decided Chase had forfeited all his personal space as payment for the slap. He thought of Buddy whenever he saw anything vaguely black or purple, and he dreamed about Buddy’s rare smiles and helpful words hidden behind the barbs of his insults.

Chase didn’t know everything about Buddy, but he also knew everything about Buddy. What a strange dichotomy. He watched the slope of Buddy’s shoulders relax as tension seeped out of him. He watched the way Buddy blinked slowly like he had everything he ever wanted in life.

And that was all Chase wanted too.

He let the bubbles of the jetstream message his body and scooted just a little closer to Buddy. He felt his mind die down into a warm fuzz and briefly wondered if that was what meditation was like. He would gladly be doing meditation every day if it was.

Fate was a fickle mistress, and Sir Ducky Duckington the third was convinced Buddy would see the merits of its rubbery valour on its second voyage. Chase had no idea how the duck somehow made its way back to them. It seemed to have avoided Deacon entirely. Apparently, all kinds of animals liked to avoid Deacon – inanimate ducks included.

Chase nudged Sir Ducky Duckington the third, giving it a little boost in its metaphorical sails. It hit its target true and fair, bumping its rubber beak against the column of Buddy’s pale arm.

Buddy sent Chase a flat stare. Chase didn’t care; he didn’t back down. He was the goddess of the wind, the patron saint of all rubbery sailors and–

SPLASH!

Chase spluttered, trying to get the water out of his nostrils. Buddy had, when he realised Chase was not a tiny bit sorry for the great mortal offence he had caused, plunged Sir Ducky down into the depths of the hot tub and let its violent buoyancy propel itself upwards to the surface. SIr Ducky broke through the water with the grace of a three year old toddler, which was to say, with absolutely no grace at all. The splash was magnificent (if Chase hadn’t been too busy with the notions of ducky sainthood to watch).

“Boys!” a shrill voice pierced through the air.

All three pairs of eyes snapped open in attention and fixed the shut door with the sort of apprehension fitting of a main character in a horror movie.

The door swung open. It was Diane in all her glory - a spotless apron dotted with crimson strawberries tied smartly around her waist and one prim hand balancing a silver platter of cut up apples and three cups of squash. The apples were sliced in such a way they resembled rabbits, with their red skins cut into a V-shape that protruded above the flesh of the apple.

“Sorry about the wait! I’ve been trying to learn how to make these cute– oh,” she said, her high-pitched rambling dying down quickly at the sight of three half-naked men in her hot tub. “What a pleasant surprise! With such lovely weather we’ve got here, you boys really ought to be using the tub in the gardens… Nevermind that! This looks like a fun gathering! Mind if I join?”

Deacon blanched. Buddy might have too, but he was just so pale to tell. Chase took charge. Clearly, he was the only one whose brain hadn’t melted away in the spa.

“That’s a lovely idea, Mrs Forenski, but we’re just getting out now.”

Deacon shot upwards, water violently splashing Buddy in the face again. “Yes! That’s exactly what we’re doing!” He clambered out the hot tub. His leg caught on the rim and sent him hopping on one foot as he tried to avoid an unplanned meeting between the floor and his face. He nearly crashed into Diane. What a horrifying thought.

Chase and Buddy followed suit, although at a more orderly pace. “Lovely idea,” Chase kept saying as they scrambled to wrap themselves up in freshly laundered towels that were stacked on a side table nearby. They dashed past Diane, who thankfully wasn’t as stuck up as Chase’s aunt Beth, and left a trail of wet footprints on Diane’s plush carpets all the way back to Buddy’s room. Aunt Beth would have screeched at the thought of their wet footprints.

On their way out, Deacon also helpfully relieved Diane of her silver platter and threw a quick “thank you!” over his shoulder as he followed his cousin.

Diane could only blink in wake of the chaos they briefly subjected her to. Her hand was still up by her head holding a phantom tray. “How delightful. Maybe I should call my friends over to have a nice afternoon soiree. Charles, Deacon! Do you think your grandfather would care to join us?”

“I’m sure he would love to!” came the muffled response which only minutely preceded the bang of the door.

Back in Buddy’s room, safe from any well-meaning grandmothers, the men heaved with exertion, clutching their knees as they bent over from the effort.

“Oh my god,” Deacon whined. Thanks to the fairly nude state of things, the wave of red that travelled through Deacon’s body was on full display. He was like a ripe tomato, if tomatoes could glow pink from embarrassment.

They made quick work of dressing themselves, reluctant to be stuck in a shirtless situation any longer than necessary now that there wasn’t the constant battering of bubbles against their skin to numb their common sense. The towels were thrown over a piece of furniture that was situated next to the wardrobe. Deacon had to do a double take when his brain matched what he was seeing with the countless descriptions he had read in his romance books over the years.

“You have a fainting chair?”

Without missing a beat, “it’s a chaise, you peasant,” Buddy shot back.

Windows opened to let the summer breeze in and properly dressed, Chase, Deacon and Buddy started to conquer the platter of apples placed in the middle of their small circle on their floor. There was a stack of homemade coasters which Chase had very suitably grabbed and slid under their glasses. Even if Diane was much nicer than Aunt Beth, it didn’t mean Chase had to get watermarks on her fancy carpets.

The pale orange of the apple squash distorted the words on the coaster, tinging it with a golden wash and magnifying the curves and lines of each letter. Still, Deacon was far too familiar with that colour scheme for a simple trick of light to gain one over him.

As Chase and Buddy chatted about the most inane things (mainly Buddy insulting Chase again, no doubt), Deacon removed the glass on top of the coaster and started to pick at the edges. ‘Coaster’ was just a decorative title. In truth, it was a heart origami that Diane had folded out of some scrap paper… scrap paper that had the words ‘CHASE HOLLOW, LIKE AND FOLLOW™’ plastered across the width of it.

What.

The rest of the heart opened up to a poster Deacon was indeed very, very familiar with. Thick white letters with a thin black border spelled out Chase’s catchphrase. The words were set against the magenta-cyan gradient that Deacon knew Chase spent at least an hour choosing.

At the lack of Deacon’s input in their riveting conservation, Chase’s attention shifted to his cousin when his eyes caught on the flyer in his hands. Oh no… Chase’s heart sank as he watched the expression on Deacon’s face. Given how badly Deacon had reacted about Chase’s unintentional outing of his catchphrase to Buddy before, Chase did not want to be in the same room as Deacon to see how his cousin processed this.

Buddy eventually caught on too, although apprehension wasn’t the emotion he felt. He cocked his head and leaned back on his arms.

How would Freckles react? Blow up? Explode?

Maybe, Buddy concluded, but Chase’s explosions were much more fun.

Perhaps it was because they were there, sat in Buddy’s room in Buddy’s home in real life, that changed things. Contrary to Chase’s worst fears, an eruption fit for Mount Vesuvius didn’t happen. Instead, Deacon met Buddy’s eyes (who was definitely not trying to goad Deacon into a fight), scrunched the flyer up and tossed it out the window.

“Hey!” Chase cried out. Even if this was a charged situation, his flyers were still his children! How could Deacon do that to him!

Buddy wasn’t ruffled in the slightest. As usual, he was as cool as a cucumber, which was a fact Chase did not want to come to terms with. “Not to worry.” Buddy leaned across Chase, who sucked in a sharp breath on instinct at the close proximity and breathed in the faint whiff of cologne.

Chase’s mind stuttered to a halt. Cologne? When did Buddy have the time to put cologne on? They literally got dressed in the same room! He knew Buddy didn’t spray any cologne on! (Chase definitely did not watch Buddy get dressed like a pervert.)

There was a drawer built into Buddy’s bedside table. He opened it and fished out a selection of more CHASE HOLLOW, LIKE AND FOLLOW™ coasters. The mountain of folded coasters threatened to break out of their wooden confine as Buddy shoved the drawer shut. “I’ve got plenty.”

Deacon’s face soured at the sight.

Buddy had chosen a small selection of three new origami coasters — another heart, a butterfly and an eight-pointed star. They were splayed out in his hand with the grace of an experienced card dealer and offered up the assortment to Deacon.

“Pick your poison.”

Chase let out a little whimper and he clutched onto Buddy’s arm. “Not real poison, right?” Buddy had a history of offering real poison to Chase before.

“Not this time, no.”

Deacon glared at him and made to pluck out the butterfly, which would not have been an issue if not for Buddy refusing to release his grip on it.

Small tussle aside, Chase was able to appease them with more apple slices. When the platter of snacks was polished off, it was time to get down to business. Deacon pulled out his notebook. “You said you would answer my questions.”

“Three, yes.”

Chase sat between them. His eyes darted from Buddy to Deacon and back to Buddy again. He didn’t know what set him off, but clearly Buddy was in a frisky mood and was determined to make Deacon’s life as difficult as possible.

“Right.” Deacon leafed through the notebook to settle on the page with most scribbles. From where Chase was sat, he could see clumps of furious lines where Deacon had crossed out misspelled words and scrapped questions. At the very bottom of the page were three lines highlighted by messy circles. “First question, did you come to Sugar Springs to find us?”

“No,” Buddy answered, looking all too smug at his one-worded reply.

Deacon narrowed his eyes. “Are you going to take the keys away from us?”

At Deacon’s question, Chase’s attention snapped to study Buddy. He hadn’t thought about what Buddy’s appearance would mean for the keys’ possession. Buddy’s gaze roamed the floor as he took the time to mull over his answer. Chase wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. Couldn’t they just stay still at this moment in time? With no conflicts about possession and danger and Ex Libris? Couldn’t they?

“If the keys aren’t happy where they are, then yes.”

“Well, they are happy here!”

“Then I won’t.”

“Fine,” Deacon harrumphed, crossing his arms. It was his last question. He had stayed up all of last night to mastermind this. “What’s your connection to Ex Libris?”

Buddy froze. The corner of Deacon’s lips twitched as he fought to contain a smirk. Bingo.

There was a crabapple tree planted in the front of Diane’s porch. Chase had absolutely no idea how old that tree was, but its trunk was thick and its canopy provided some partial shade into Buddy’s room. The family of birds nesting some ways east of Buddy’s window were chirping out some melody as an ode to the good weather.

At some point between one and five minutes, when the birdsong’s appeal wore out, Chase gave Buddy a light nudge. “Buddy?”

Buddy was frozen still. It was then that Chase realised he hadn’t noticed the steady rise and fall of Buddy’s chest because Buddy wasn’t breathing. His eyes looked far away and there were small beads of sweat at his hairline.

“Buddy?” Chase’s voice was soft with concern. He placed his hand over Buddy’s, noting the stark coldness he felt. “You okay?”

Deacon watched on in concern too. His eyes flicked to the analogue clock on Buddy’s bedside table and his mind primed with the pages and pages of information he read about anxiety and panic attacks. Surely not?

At last, Buddy let out a shaky breath he had been holding for far too long. His head turned to meet Chase’s when he noticed the warm hand on his.

“I,” he began, all fearlessness gone and suddenly finding the lush carpet beneath him fascinating. He swallowed.

“Do you work for them?” Deacon asked, hoping to help Buddy with his answer. Deacon had meant to use this chance to worm some information out of him, but he didn’t mean Buddy to suffer.

“No! I would never!” Buddy took a deep breath to calm himself. “I was born into Ex Libris.”

Chase’s eyes widened. “What?”

“I was born into Ex Libris. My parents… are Ex Libris.”

Deacon frowned. “Does that mean Diane is part of Ex Libris too?”

Confusion clouded Buddy’s features. “No, only my parents are. Diane– Grandmother doesn’t know about any of this. I esc– I ran away. All grandmother knows is that I decided England was too boring and wanted to stay with her.”

The words Buddy didn’t say were all too loud in that room. Buddy’s room wasn’t small by any case, but Chase felt the presence of those four walls more than he ever had. He looked out the window where sunlight flooded in.

“You’re here now,” Chase said, grasping Buddy’s hand in his. “That’s all it matters.”

Buddy turned and met his eyes, his own shining brightly with a layer of half-formed tears.

“Okay.”

.

They stayed for a little while longer after that, discussing nonsensical nothings and raiding more of Diane’s kitchen. Chase’s bum was rooted to the ground and he only agreed to venture out of Buddy’s room when he was certain Buddy had regained his usual dry humour. Diane’s kitchen was filled with ingredients, and the three of them weren’t the most quiet. They found a cupboard full of the different types of flour, and Deacon, possessed by grandpa’s wrath, started to bicker with Buddy over the quality of Diane’s flour. Chase had to stay well away. Thankfully, that meant he was forced to the other side of the kitchen where there was a walk-in pantry.

“Guys!” he called from inside the pantry. Not a second later, Buddy and Deacon rushed in. They got stuck at the narrow entry of the pantry, and Buddy gave Deacon a vicious shove to propel himself into the pantry, next to Chase.

The pantry was small, and could realistically only fit two people inside at the same time. There was enough room for Deacon to sneak past Buddy to insert himself between them, but it would make his intent too obvious. After Buddy’s little incident in the bedroom, Deacon was trying to be nicer.

The three of them weren’t quiet. They bickered and Chase let out an obnoxious laugh that grated on Deacon’s ears whenever Buddy was too close and said something mildly funny. Their noise pulled Diane from her reading room, book in hand and a thumb inserted between the pages as a temporary bookmark. It wasn’t until she noticed the time and asked them if they would like to stay for lunch did Chase and Deacon finally leg it.

The group stood outside the house in the shade of the crabapple tree, the front door separating them from Diane’s lunch invitations. Chase had already said his goodbyes – although Deacon wasn’t sure that tight hug was really necessary – and started to walk ahead, leaving Buddy and Deacon alone.

Buddy looked like a grumpy cat who had been dunked in water. Though, Deacon supposed, having seen cat Buddy being thrown into a pond before, this grumpy cat seemed a little more morose.

“Hey, Buddy, listen,” Deacon began. He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about his words and then, with a burst of energy, he pulled out his notebook and hastily scribbled out a few lines of chicken-scratch. He tore the page out and stuffed it into Buddy’s hand.

Buddy frowned, uncrumpling the piece of paper and then inspecting it like a piece of contaminated evidence from a crime scene. “What is this?”

“This is our address, and also the instructions to get there from here. If you need anything, or if you need somewhere to run to, you can run to us.”

Buddy’s gaze remained fixed on the scrap paper in his hands, but Deacon knew he was listening.

The little pause that Deacon took to breath deposited a ball of viscous unease in his airways. “You… are safe, right?” He cleared his throat and then winced as he registered his words. “Or, at least, safer?”

Buddy’s eyes flickered to Deacon’s face and then fell onto the ground. He tucked the paper away in a pocket somewhere and then straightened up his posture, regaining a shade of his usual self-confident poise.

“I can run… I don’t have many things…”

A battered red car drove down the street. Both Buddy and Deacon turned to watch it crawl by, sputtering out plumes of black smoke. It travelled at a snail’s pace, but Deacon would give anything to jump on and drive far, far away from this awkward situation.

“Alright,” Deacon nodded, suddenly feeling a little too responsible for Buddy’s safety than his brain could rationalise. “If anything does happen, and you can’t run to us, you can go to my parents. They don’t live in Sugar Springs, they’re a little further out, and they can be a little stuck-up – oh hey! You guys would totally get along. Sorry, I mean, uh, if they’re being mean, just tell them you’re waiting for me or something.”

After the long monologue spewing out of Deacon’s heart like a fountain of vomit, Deacon sucked in a deep breath to regain his bearings. He eyed Buddy closely for the mockery that would usually dance across his features. There were none. Just blank, raw, open.

“I’ll be off then.” Deacon gave Buddy a tentative pat on the shoulders. “I bet we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”

.

It was cold.

Cold always seeped in between the cracks in the walls. Age had weakened them. and the passing and goings of generations had engraved a heartbeat of life, death, misery and joy into the grains of the stones. The house had died a long time ago along with the heavy ringing of the solitary cannon, fired to mark the birth of blood-red poppies from fields of blood.

Women, children, elderly flooded the streets and welcomed their husbands, fathers, sons and friends home – or whatever remained of them. The lucky ones received empty husks of men whose minds would continuously ring with the heavy shelling of artillery. The unlucky ones received numbed lines of condolences and memories of their loved ones that would only live on in mumbled words clumsily strung together after several bottles of alcohol.

The world outside mourned and celebrated, but the house was left empty with ghosts of days gone past. The house had died when the last of the family were called up for service and died in a war fuelled by the egos of a powerful few. A new rot took place.

Nox’s breaths rattled against his brittle ribcage as he ran down the corridor of old portraits, depicting people who must have been important enough at some point in their lives to sit down for a few hours for the artists. Now, just like their colours, they themselves had faded into obscurity, serving as nothing more than gaudy decorations. Their empty eyes and half-smiles lingered on the poor boy.

The phantom press of the door knob’s elaborate scrollwork was imprinted onto his palms. He glanced down at them when he could no longer feel the brand of the knob, and saw that it had transformed into a permanent scar against the grey metal of his hand. It was a reminder of his confinement.

The orange glow from the sconces overhead reflected off the ridges of the disfigurement, highlighting his helplessness, his hopelessness, his powerlessness.

His abundant wealth of lack.

“Nox!” a voice bellowed from somewhere in the all-consuming mass of darkness that was hot on his heels. Its anger wove together with the darkness’s searching tendrils, twisting, beckoning Nox back to safety in that library lined with gold.

Nox ran, chest heaving, heart pumping, feet hitting the worn carpeted floor at a taxing rhythm. He passed an ornate mirror that bulged outwards, passed doors which opened to lifeless nightingales clutching the rod beneath their feet even in death. Their empty eyes continued to stare out at the unobstructed doorway. The doors to their gilded cages were flung wide open, but those birds would never feel the wind beneath their wings again.

Somewhere, or everywhere — was he going mad? — whispers of a familiar lullaby sung by a familiar voice echoed.

Hush… little baby…

  Don’t say a word…

The fear was palpable. It morphed into sticky, dirty tar, clogging and blackening his insides. Corroding, rotting.

The faded glory of the walls bled into exposed brick. Crumbs of clay from the disintegrating bricks lined the way. The chilly despair and cruelty that had seeped into the cracks licked at his skin.

The sconces mounted on the stone walls poured burnt orange light into the stale air. The draft in the old Elizabethan manor coaxed the flames into a passionate dance, casting flickering shadows of Nox’s fleeing figure against the walls.

Even the shadows were mocking him. His own twin of void towered over him at the height he was supposed to be. The height he was not.

The corridor swerved to the left. Nox followed suit, turning so sharply his ankles protested with a hot white flash of pain. The action pulled a wince through his gritted teeth.

The corridor opened up into a spacious hall, illuminated by nothing more than a few solitary candles dotted around the room.

Nox paused at the sight. Somewhere deep within his consciousness, he knew this room. He recognised it. Multi-coloured tiles, each about a foot wide, arranged themselves in an alternating pattern like a chessboard. Even if he didn’t remember the room, the council of nightingales that lined the hall in their delicate golden cages would give him a good idea.

It was the nightingale hall.

Every step he took elicited an incessant chirping from one of the nightingale guards. There were a few of the checkerboard tiles that appeased the gales’ perverse requirements and granted him a brief respite from their haunting songs.

Nox’s foot caught onto something when he made it to the centre of the hall. He tripped, landing flat against the floor. His little puffs of breaths stirred up the centuries’ worth of dirt and dust worn into the crevices of the tiles.

When he turned back, he realised it wasn’t that. He hadn’t tripped. His legs — they stopped working, stopped moving. Icy horror filled his lungs. He saw grey leeching away the colours — however dull — of his skin and trousers as it climbed upwards and upwards like a very bad infection.

Papa’s gonna…

  Buy you a mockingbird…

The rot gathered pace. It travelled up his legs and reached his torso. Nox could do nothing but watch, a silent witness to his end. The rot at his hands also moved upwards, consuming, towards his heart, towards his lungs.

Soon, his heart would not beat. His blood would not flow.

His feelings dulled, but fate wasn’t so kind to transmute his terror into unfeeling metal. That was the only part of him that was still alive, whilst his humanity bled out of him.

The little man of grey and black had no name. His name died with his humanity. He had no name, no history, and no future.

Why should a lump of metal have anything except for the purpose it was created for?

The small humanoid lump of metal would transform into a portal of books, its purpose bound by the crescent sigil carved into the key’s face.

And what should happen when it was no longer useful?

Like all tools, it would be discarded, disposed of. Destroyed and —

— Nox jolted awake. His mind still raced down the endless hallways despite his legs being weighed down by stomach-churning dread, paralysed.

When the slightest shred of sense returned to him, he wriggled his toes fearfully. Was that flesh beneath the covers? Or was that metal?

The little mounds under the covers wriggled back. Okay. They moved. That was always good.

Sleep-muddled fingers fumbled with the window latch. Missing and then, pulling, twisting, turning. Nox didn’t know how latches worked. Eventually, the latch gave way, allowing him to push the little panel of glass outwards into the night. The night breeze hit him in the face and weaved between his fingers.

No.

That wasn’t enough. That was never enough.

The window was the viewing hatch, and the room was his gaol.

He flung off the covers and planted both feet firmly onto the floor. The song of the night-time birds drifted through the air and then through the window. It was never quiet in Sugar Springs, being so close to the woods. Nox didn’t mind it. He wondered if he would go mad with only the sounds of his own thoughts for company.

He passed by the drawer where Violet was in a deep sleep, cocooned in towels of Egyptian cotton. Keys didn’t need sleep, but they can sleep. After a long day of satisfying her personal quota of daily villany, Violet was a surprisingly deep sleeper.

The handle to his door wasn’t a knob. It was a lever, shaped like a stylised cat’s tail.

Nox pressed down on it, and felt his heart thunder. The minute click of the latch reverberated through his tension-coiled body, but it was drowned by the storm raging inside him.

It wasn’t opening. It wasn’t opening. He was trapped. He was trapped. He was trapped.

The door swung inwards. The corridor was a vacuum devoid of light. Nox’s eyes were open, were they not? The answer didn’t seem to matter in the face of this all-consuming darkness.

His feet carried him from first floor to ground, and through other, multiple doors.

Did he unlock those as well?

He didn’t know. His eyes were open, but they did not see. His ears were working, but he heard nothing except for the whispered rhymes.

And if that mockingbird…

  Don’t sing…

For the briefest of moments, his mind cleared and he saw the silver moonlight painting the world in an ethereal glow. But he was stood underneath the edge of the crabapple tree, and a gust of wind sent its shadow dancing across his skin.

In such a low light environment, the shadows were faint, and were barely there. It took concentration to differentiate between shadow and night. Concentration Nox did not have.

His eyes widened at the sight of his spotted skin.

Roses?

His heart lurched as his breath stuck in his throat, expanding and swelling into a ball of frayed nerves. His pulse accelerated, mirroring a fleeing rabbit’s rhythm. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba– but the other shoe never seemed to drop. He hung there in limbo and in freefall all at the same time. His lungs worked tirelessly. Up down, in out, always breathing, fast and light, but never quite managing to absorb the oxygen the crisp night air had to offer.

His eyes darted here, there, everywhere. Where was he?

There were wide panels of walls to both sides of him, covered with age-yellowed wallpaper. He was back. His consciousness was dragged back thousands of miles by force. Back onto the buses, back through customs, back on the plane. Back home, nestled amongst the sleepy, rolling hills of backwater Gloucestershire, England.

He was a child again.

He ran. He ran through walls he knew should hurt him in a mad rush, ran through doorways he knew led to dilapidated servants’ staircases and then a gruesome tumble. His mind clung onto directions written in chicken-scratch and whispered in a voice that was heavy with tentative hope. That was a reality which was now thousands of miles away, like sand slipping through desperate fingers.

His breathing grew erratic the more he caught sight of his bare arms. The blue-black roses his mother liked to give him blossomed against his skin. She gave them when he was quiet, and when he cried, and gave them when he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe, she gave them just because he existed.

His vision blurred. The empty stares on the walls mocked him. The nightingales in their cages watched him.

AND IF THAT MOCKINGBIRD DON’T SING…

  PAPA’S GONNA BUY YOU–

“Buddy?”

He heard a voice call from above. He blinked. The faded yellows and wooden browns of the nightingale hall blurred with his tears. He looked up and saw a small dot of silver and a figure half-hanging from a circular tower window.

The figure waved at him, the motion causing the moonlight to ripple across the fluffy texture of his pale golden hair. The moon was half-obscured by a blanket of cloud. Nox’s attention was thread-bare and barely there, but he still registered the sunny smile and the halo the moon placed upon his head.

His breath hitched.

Oh.

His north star, his pyrite.

His.

Not a moment later, the door to the farmhouse flung open and the gold bounded up to his fool. “Buddy!” he said, his cheeks rosy pink with exertion or joy. “What are you doing here? Not that I’m complaining, because I’m totally not. In fact, I– Buddy?”

The smile on the star’s face fell at Nox’s non-response.

Who was Buddy?

Did he know that the north star smiled at him with such a blinding light in his eyes? Nox’s chest burned green with envy. How lucky this Buddy was.

There was an anxious hesitancy in the star’s eyes. Oh no. Did Nox put that there? Was his star going to give him roses too?

The star studied him like a monk poring over age-old scriptures, studiously, piously. He waved a testing hand over Nox’s unseeing eyes and placed them –

Nox flinched. No! He didn’t want roses! He’ll be good from now on!

But the roses never came.

– gently on his cheeks when no response came from Nox.

Instead, the star tilted his heated face down with hands whose warmth did not burn. The star’s cool forehead pressed against his. Tufts of unruly hair tickled at his temples.

Nox closed his eyes.

“Does it hurt?” the star asked after a beat. He led Nox away from the farmhouse and through streets he ran through but didn’t notice. They entered the woods that enclosed Sugar Springs in a half hug. Mockingbirds chirped overhead. Bugs scuttled away from their paths across the forest floor. Eventually, they reached a clearing.

There was a tree stump at the centre, and the star sat Nox down on it. He crouched down at his feet. “What’s wrong?” the star asked. His words hung between them, unanswered.

Nox’s mind pushed with mental exertion. Come on! Speak! He willed his leaden tongue to move. How could he tell the star he couldn’t speak? That his tongue was paralysed, and his mouth sewn shut?

“Hey! Hey,” said the star. He brought his fingers to Nox’s temples and brushed aside bangs sticky from cold sweat. This time, Nox did not flinch. “Breathe. You’re hyperventilating, you know that? Breathe.”

He stood up, and cradled Nox’s head against his chest. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

“Listen to my heartbeat, Buddy, breathe, okay?”

What was breathing? Did the star not understand? Metal chests and metal lungs did not breathe. They were solid, rigid, locked in, trapped. An acrid burn in his chest started to eat away at his organs, but Nox listened, quietly, wordlessly. Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump. The other shoe fell this time. Nox felt the echo of the star’s heartbeat travel into his body. He allowed the thrumming of the star’s warmth to fill his consciousness.

The night shone overhead and all was quiet. Most of the world had gone to bed except for the other half of creatures and insects that revelled in the darkness. There was a calmer rhythm of life when the moon reigned.

Nox’s breathing calmed to a slower, steadier rhythm. Gentle hands began patting him.

“My dad sang this to me when I was younger,” was all the warning Nox received before, “Hush, little baby, don’t you cry…”

Buddy closed his eyes, breathing in the tropical shampoo Chase liked to use. Its scent wove itself into Chase’s skin and then into the cotton of his starry pyjamas.

He preferred this lullaby much better.

Chapter Text

Throughout the ages, the moon provided trusted confidence for the poets, the lovers, and the wronged. Its silver light promised protection under its veil of secrecy and a lack of judgement in light of the hush of the night.

Chase and Buddy remained as they were, seemingly silent but for their twin hearts beating out the same song. The moon watched on silently, bearing witness to the wordless oaths the two men were unknowingly making to each other. It watched as life’s theatre played out, the two beings orbiting around one another with easy devotion.

The night breeze rustled through the dense foliage of the canopy. In the vacuum of the day-time hustle and bustle, the crackles and pops from the movement of the branches echoed through the crisp air. A thin layer of mist settled over the forest floor, diffusing the moon’s soft light into an even softer glow.

Chase stroked the side of Buddy’s head. His fingers threaded through the black strands of his hair. They eventually found their favourite nook amongst the various bumps and dips of Buddy’s side profile, and started to play around with the rim of Buddy’s ear.

Chase half-expected Buddy to bite him, or at least pull away. This was too intimate, perhaps too much so, and Chase feared that if Buddy didn’t, he might do something stupid like planting a big fat kiss on Buddy’s lips.

Was it wrong to think of something like that during such a tender moment?

Maybe. But Chase Hollow lived life on the corner of the edge. It would be uncharacteristic of him not to test Buddy’s boundaries at every chance he was given.

It took the blood to settle in Chase’s legs for Chase to begin fiddling in a feeble attempt to shake out the pins and needles. The forest creatures had all gone to sleep, and sleep was also pulling at Chase’s eyelids.

“Buddy” he whispered, voice cracking slightly from disuse. There was no answer. Buddy was leaned against his side, head resting against his side. His breathing was deep and steady. And when Chase leaned over to catch a glimpse of his face, he realised Buddy had already dozed off.

Chase’s heart clenched. He didn’t want to wake Buddy from his slumber, but he also didn’t want to stay out all night in the woods. The moisture from the night air had settled into his clothes and he could see little dew drops hanging from strands of Buddy’s hair. Buddy looked like a sleeping fairy, but it couldn’t be all that comfortable for him either, surely.

“Buddy,” Chase tried again. He transferred Buddy’s lolling head from against his chest to between the cool hold of his hands. He winced as the movement caused a sharp flash of pins and needles to stab through his legs.

Buddy’s cheek was warm against his palms, smooshed up from the pressure of his slack form pushing him into Chase’s hands. Shallow creases formed on his face. His eyes were shut and the space between his brows were free from furrows. A gentle breeze caressed his bangs, now light after the cold sweat had dried off.

Chase couldn’t help the smile on his face. He crouched down and leaned his forehead against Buddy’s and bathed contently in his sleepy warmth.

The motion shook Buddy from his slumber, forcefully dragging him from the depths of his dreamless sleep. “Mrgh…” Buddy managed to say. His eyes slowly blinked open and were met with a pair of honey-brown. “Chase…”

“Come on, Buddy. Let’s head back and sleep in a proper bed.” Buddy grumbled a few more incoherent complaints but allowed Chase to pull him to his feet. It was only then that Chase noticed the suspicious lack of footwear. “Buddy! Where are your shoes? Did you come to find me without them?”

Buddy mumbled something affirmative and something along the lines of “doesn’t hurt” but Chase was having none of it. There were marks and scratches covering Buddy’s feet and Chase felt guilt well up inside him. Were the underside of his feet bleeding? Chase wished he was cleverer like Deacon. Chase wished he could help. He slung Buddy’s pliant arm over his shoulder and manoeuvred his body so that Buddy’s body was lying against Chase’s back.

And when a sound of askance slipped through Buddy’s sleepy lips, Chase only explained, “You’re in no shape to walk back. Look at your feet! Come on, give me your other hand. I’m going to try to piggyback you.”

And Chase half managed it, although with Buddy’s longer limbs, it turned out to be an anatomical puzzle that required far too much brain power than Chase and Buddy had combined at that moment. Chase was strong. His shorter height might mask it, but Chase always paid attention to his fitness, given he had been in his school’s wrestling club before. Buddy, on the other hand, was all height and lean muscle. Once Chase had successfully positioned Buddy, carrying him was no problem.

They made their way back out the woods at a pace twice as slow as when they entered. Twisted roots peppered the forest floor, and Chase didn’t quite fancy tripping whilst having Buddy on his back. When they were out of the woods, the way to Diane’s was easy enough now that they had streetlights and moonlight lining the path. Buddy’s breath was warm against Chase’s ear. Given the sleepy state he was in, Buddy offered no conversation. Every now and then, he would mumble something about stars and pyrites and roses.

Buddy made a brief visit back to the realm of consciousness when they arrived. Chase set Buddy down in the hallway – Buddy had obviously left the front door unlocked in his earlier panic – and straightened up.

“Right, uh…” Chase’s legs were heavy and his heart had transformed into a magnet, pulling him towards Buddy. He didn’t want to go. “I better head back.”

Buddy snapped awake. “Wait!” And when Chase paused, “It’s dangerous outside. I’ll walk you home.”

Chase’s heart started to pick up. “But you don’t have shoes on.”

“I can put them on now.” And as if to prove his point, Buddy disappeared from sight. He must have made his way over to the shoe rack, and thanks to his unfamiliarity with the house’s layout, Chase heard a loud clattering and a sharp yelp as Buddy walked into the rack. He emerged eventually with two left shoes somehow, but a determined set in his features that was not going to accept Chase walking back in the dark alone.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Chase’s lips, and he had to muster all of his strength to fight it. “But Buddy, you’re going to get lost after you walk me back.”

“I most likely wouldn’t.”

“You must likely, definitely, would. Buddy, how many times have you left the house after you got here?” Buddy yawned in lieu of a proper answer. Yeah. That was what Chase thought too.

A frustrated furrow appeared in the space between Buddy’s brows, clearly not happy about Chase having the last word. “Or… you could sleep over here tonight?”

Chase shifted his weight onto one foot and started to drag his other food lightly over the grass. “Yeah… I could… That sounds good.”

And so, that was that.

Chase slid up to Buddy’s side with familiar ease. He looped Buddy’s arm over him and secured a hold on the side of Buddy’s waist. They hobbled awkwardly through the house, trying not to get any dirt (or blood – although Chase hoped this really was not the case) on Diane’s carpets. At one point, when they reached the stairs, Chase wordlessly swept Buddy off his feet in a bridal carry. Buddy yelped and there was a resounding bang as Chase misjudged Buddy’s height and the width of the staircase.

“Sorry,” Chase whispered, wincing when he saw the tears forming at the corner of Buddy’s eyes.

Like that, they made their way upstairs and back into the safety of Buddy’s room. Chase lowered Buddy onto his bed. He left the room, and when he came back, he was carrying a small bowl filled with warm water and a towel he had found.

… Honestly, Chase was getting way too familiar with Diane’s house.

He set it down and dipped Buddy’s dirty feet into the basin, whose toes curled up in shock at the warm temperature of the water. Chase began to wipe the dirt away wordlessly, and breathed out a sigh of relief when he didn’t see any bloodied cuts.

They bypassed the harsh glare of the overhead light and opted for the star-shaped night light instead. It bathed the side of Chase’s face in a soft yolky glow. The concentration in Chase’s eyes was as clear as day and his attentiveness was tangible in the gentle deliberation of each downward wipe. Buddy’s breath stuttered as he took in the sight, Chase in front of him, crouched down, holding his foot in his hands, cradling it, softly, reverently. He swallowed.

“Why?” His voice was weak, shaky, in the vast silence of the room.

Chase finished with the task on hand and tossed the towel back into the basin with a splash. He fished out another towel from somewhere in Buddy’s wardrobe and pressed it against the dampness of Buddy’s feet. “Because some idiot decided to go on a nighttime walk without shoes.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

Chase didn’t look at him. “Because I care about you, alright?”

“You don’t have to.” Buddy’s voice was as small and fragile as a scared child seeking refuge in the shadows.

Chase sighed and shook his head fondly because he met Buddy’s gaze. “We’ve gone over this, remember? At the beach? I care because I do. And that’s that.”

Buddy stayed silent. His eyes were unfocused and clouded that indicated his thoughts were miles away as Chase worked to pat away the water droplets that clung stubbornly to the pale skin of Buddy’s feet. When he was satisfied with the results, he threw that towel towards the water basin too, and then grimaced when he realised the towel was barely wet and he had literally thrown it into a basin full of water. He didn’t want a soggy towel soaking itself into Buddy’s carpet! Chase snatched the towel back before it had the chance to take up any water. He chanced a glance at Buddy; this would definitely be something Buddy would tell him off for, if he was in a better mood.

But Buddy sat on the bed, unmoving but for his pair of icy blue eyes that followed Chase’s every movement. Chase felt his heart melt at the rawness in Buddy’s eyes. He hastily folded the towel – it didn’t matter how neat it was. All he wanted to do was touch Buddy, somehow, in any way he could. He yearned for direct physical contact – something that would anchor him to Buddy, or Buddy to himself. He didn’t know which way round it was.

“Hey.”

Buddy tilted his head to look at Chase wordlessly, like a doll. They stared at each other for a moment, searching for something but not knowing what.

Chase was the first to break eye contact. He sat on the bed and nudged Buddy over and wrapped the covers around them. The nightlight turned off with a soft click and Chase settled in against Buddy, wrapping his arms around the man whose words were covered in thorns but whose eyes burned with the intensity of a thousand suns.

The window Buddy had fumbled open in his panic let in a cool breeze. The moon hung in the sky. The clouds had passed. Stars surrounded the moon. The moon was no longer alone.

“I care for you. Deacon cares for you, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Your grandma cares for you. My grandpa cares about you too even if he hasn’t properly met you. There are a lot of people who care about you, and a lot more in the future too. Buddy, stop being stubborn and accept that, okay? Now sleep, it’s stupid o’ clock right now.”

Perhaps the cover of darkness allowed for the heart to burn even brighter. The words slipped past his lips with ease.

“Okay. Night, Chase.”

Buddy’s back was to the wall. His arms were pinned to his side by Chase’s hug. He should have felt trapped, but he didn’t. For the first time in a very long time, Buddy felt worry leave his body. Buddy felt safe.

.

Chase woke up to warm arms and muted sunlight on his face. The first notes of the morning birdsong had started to stream through the open window. Buddy’s scent – woodsy, earthy, and slightly ozone – enveloped him in a soft cocoon. There were creases on his cheek from where he spent all night pressed up against Buddy’s chest, and his limbs were entangled in a chaotic mess with Buddy’s.

How had he gotten there? He could have sworn his head was on the pillow when he went to sleep, but somehow it was now on Buddy’s arm.

It took a full minute for his brain to realise why there was an undercurrent of anxiety that belied his every thought. Buddy’s presence soothed him, but he needed to go.

Chase tried to slip out of Buddy’s loose hug and sit up, but his attempt was rendered a failure when he only fell back into Buddy’s embrace, Oh. That was where his arm went, caught beneath Buddy’s body. Chase stared at it. Nope, he couldn’t feel it at all. Not one bit. And he knew that was going to be some hellish pins and needles when he did get his arm back, but he couldn’t find it in himself to regret the position he was in.

He gave himself another moment to savour being cocooned in Buddy’s warmth. He felt every breath Buddy took, felt as each minute tremble turned into an avalanche inside of Chase.

Chase haphazardly patted his pockets for his phone. It was then that he realised he had never brought his phone with him when he spotted Buddy standing out in his front yard in nothing but a pair of black pyjamas last night. He bit back a groan as he felt the uneasiness rise in him. He hands flapped around onto Buddy’s side table and –

– there! His hand made purchase around the sleek silhouette of Buddy’s alarm clock. 07:23. Thank goodness. Chase was still on time, but he wouldn’t be if he let himself enjoy this anymore than he already had.

Maybe Chase could mastermind another cuddle session somehow? He really didn’t want to leave. Maybe Buddy wouldn’t mind even without the shroud of drowsiness clouding his decisions.

Trying his best not to jostle his companion, Chase attempted to extract his arm from Buddy’s possession. Somehow, in the short time Chase spent convincing himself to leave, Buddy had rolled off his arm and, instead, wrapped it in a tight hug instead.

Out of all his pillows! Chase thought somewhat manically. Despite the fort of pillows that took up a not insignificant amount of space on the bed, his arm was somehow Buddy’s preferred pillow. Laughter tried to leave him, but Chase was determined not to wake Buddy. He brushed a gentle thumb over Buddy’s dark circles and briefly wondered how bad his were.

Wow, what a pair they made.

Chase had to crouch somewhere near the head of the bed like a very deranged spider and tried to pull his arm out that way. Buddy let out a disgruntled whine, but eventually relented. Success! Huzzah! Chase had regained his arm!

He made his way over to Buddy’s desk, eyes scanning the relative bareness of the wood for some pen and paper. Buddy was still in dreamland and Chase didn’t want to wake him, but he did want to leave a note. Buddy must be so tired after what happened last night. He needed all the sleep he could get.

There weren’t many things on Buddy’s desk. There was a small stack of books to one side, bound by a wide ribbon, and not much else. The books seemed old and their golden foiled titles seemed to agree. Chase couldn’t see much from where he stood, nor did he have the desire to go snooping around Buddy’s book selections (although they seem more of what Diane thought Buddy would read – maybe Buddy hadn’t brought his own books yet? Maybe Chase could bring him book shopping?)

There were some small drawers hanging off the underside of the table, each with a little sloped dip that served as a handle. Chase shoved one of his hands in, intending on rummaging through it for a pen (maybe he could scribble a note on Buddy’s arm? Would Buddy murder him for that?). But before he could pull it open, he felt – and also heard – a vicious SMACK! on his fingers.

“Ow!” he whispered-yelled, still very aware of Buddy asleep behind him. He yanked his hand away from the drawer and scrutinised it for the teeth he now knew it had.

But teeth it was not. Instead, it was one singular purple figure, poking out of the little handle-crevice with an irked expression.

Chase’s eyes widened.

That was clearly not some sort of figurine. It moved. Its actions were too life-like, too animated. If that wasn’t enough, her purple colouring and her environment (Buddy) gave her away.

“Violet?”

Violet hauled herself through the gap and onto the table like an award-winning gymnast. She held a paper fan that was taller than her like a weapon – oh, so that was what had hit Chase – and climbed the stack of books placed not far from the table’s edge like a queen ascending her throne. She stared at him, arms crossed, head tilted, and paper fan perpetually beside her as a thinly veiled threat.

“Uh… hi? I’m Ch–”

“Chase, yes. I know… Silver told me about you.”

Chase felt goosebumps rise from her stare. His entire body felt foreign to him, felt mechanical. He was rooted to the floor like a deer in headlights. There was a grim set to Violet’s frown and a tightness in her posture that told Chase she wasn’t going to do the talking for him.

“Silver told you about me?”

Violet contemplated his words, and then dropped her arms. She let out a small sigh and the hostility faded away from her eyes. She seemed to turn her words over in her mind before deciding that, yes, they were alright, they were safe. “Yes, in her… letter.” Every word of hers was measured. Chase didn’t know what threat she thought he was. She reminded him a little of Buddy when he first met him, although Violet was key-sized and didn’t push him up against a wall.

“I see. I’m glad you got the letter!” Chase dropped down to his knees and propped his arms up on the table. “We went through… uh… a lot to get it to you!”

Chase’s words seemed to have flown over Violet’s head. She leaned against her paper fan and studied the book she was standing on. “Thank you,” she said eventually, sounding awkward as the words forced themselves out, “We were lucky to find you. I heard you’ve been good to Silver and the others.”

Huh?

Chase blinked, and then let the words settle. “I’m lucky to find you guys too,” Chase admitted, feeling the little teeth of shame bite at his conscience. He saw Silver, Bronze and Goldie as his friends and he wanted them to have the best life they could, but that didn’t take away the fact he needed them for his wish. There was a metallic taste in his mouth as he thought about how transactional everything was.

Chase thought hard. He fished around in his mind for something more to say to Violet, but his mind was full of cotton and slowed by sleep deprivation. He was about to say something when he heard a sleepy “Chase?” behind him.

Chase whirled around. Buddy was still laid in bed, looking very much like the dozing princesses Chase usually played in storybooks. There was little that gave away his wakefulness, but Chase shuffled over to him regardless. There was a smile on Chase’s face. Chase didn’t know how long that was there. Maybe it had been there since he woke up? Or maybe it was there somewhere in the middle of the night when his ear was pressed against Buddy’s chest, listening to Buddy’s own lullaby of ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump as he fell asleep? The smile grew with every inch closer he became.

“Hey, Buddy,” Chase whispered when he got to the bed, leaning his head on his folded arms again like he had before. “Good morning.”

Buddy didn’t deign Chase a response. He was on his side, his body curved in a soft angle, cradling the spot where Chase had been. His eyes opened just a slit, and then slowly blinked shut like a cat napping contently in a sunbeam. And perhaps he was. Chase was his sunbeam, his radiant smile showering him in gentle warmth.

A few more languid blinks, and his bangs fell to prick at his eyes. There was a short struggle where Buddy tried to shift them away by uselessly (adorably) scrunching his nose. In the end, Chase gave into the itching at his fingertips and brushed them away for Buddy.

And then Chase’s hand should have returned to his side. Chase should have said his goodbyes. Chase should have walked out that door. But Chase did none of those.

A brush at the temples started a journey Chase could not stop. His fingers followed the curve of Buddy’s face, and his hand came to a natural rest cupping the expanse of Buddy’s cheek. There was a small movement as Buddy nuzzled into Chase’s palm, breathing in Chase’s scent, or what little was left of it after a night of entangled limbs.

The haziness of sleep clouded over Buddy’s eyes and he let them fall shut, enjoying the trail of fire that Chase’s touch left on his skin. “More,” Buddy mumbled, and dragged Chase’s hand away from his cheek and onto the side of his neck. Chase’s mouth dried. He was all too aware of Buddy’s own fiery heat and the pulse that was beating under his palm. There was a ball of heat low in his stomach. He shifted uncomfortably.

“Buddy,” Chase rasped out like a dying man in a desert. His thumb brushed at Buddy’s jawline, engraving the shape into his mind. Chase’s chest felt tight as he watched Buddy’s own rise and fall in a peaceful rhythm. He wanted to surge up and steal Buddy’s breath from his mouth. He felt like he needed Buddy to breathe. Buddy was his oxygen, Buddy was his oasis, and Chase had to fight against every fibre of his being not to jump back into bed with Buddy. Buddy was sleeping close to the wall. There was a space next to him – the space Chase had just vacated.

His space.

Chase’s space.

But there was something leaden anchoring Chase to the floor. The pull of his magnet heart drowned under the weight of the festering grief that clung onto the walls of his consciousness. Today was Friday, and Friday was when Chase visited his mum. Chase wouldn’t give this up for anything. He couldn’t.

Chase cleared his throat.

“Buddy,” Chase tried again, voice now smooth and easy now that he firmly settled on his goal. Each beat of Buddy’s pulse under his fingers reminded him that Buddy was going to be here. He and Buddy had time.

“I’ve got to go now.” Buddy wearily forced his eyes open, and Chase immediately went to brush his thumb against the corner of Buddy’s eyes. “You go sleep some more. It’s still early. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Buddy mumbled something that Chase wasn’t sure were words at all, but his heart clenched all the same. What was going on with Chase? It wasn’t like Buddy was dying or something.

He stood up and turned, intent on heading out. He caught sight of Violet’s narrowed eyes and– oh. He forgot Violet was there at all. She cocked her head in Buddy’s direction, a silent question interwoven in her tense posture.

“I, uh, I was helping Buddy–”

“Right.” Minutes passed. The stuffiness of the room multiplied which every cautious breath Chase drew. Buddy, on the other hand, had started snoring very lightly from behind Chase. Chase’s eyes darted everywhere but where Violet was and his legs tensed in anticipation of his eventual escape. He heard Violet sigh. “I see,” she said finally, some of the initial apprehensive wearing off. “What happened last night? Can you tell me?”

And so Chase did. He recounted how he had been in the tower, chatting with Silver (“Oh! You should totally come visit! Silver misses you!”) when she caught sight of an unmoving blob from where she stood on the window sill, tending to her flowers. Chase told Violet about how Buddy seemed so out of it, how he stayed silent and distant for most of the night. He told her about the lack of shoes, and the little scratches of red that now decorated his feet.

Violet listened and took all of it in wordlessly. Sadness weighed on her and her shoulders slumped downwards. Her previous crown of haughty superiority vanished, and a crown of melancholy took its place. “Thank you… Nox… he– he remembers too much, and sometimes it haunts him. Thank you…” Her fists clenched at her sides.

“It’s okay, honestly. I was happy to help.”

Violet thanked him once more. And when she began making her way down the table, Chase offered her a lift on his hand as he usually did with Silver. Violet shrunk back, but tentatively took the offer and stepped onto his palm. Chase was careful with her as he always was with the keys.

He brought her to the bed. Buddy was completely out of it, but Chase could swear he seemed more content with having Violet so close. He chanced a glance at the clock. 07:46. Right. He still had time. This time, with Violet taking over the job of watching over Buddy, the heavy weight in Chase’s feet disappeared. He said a final goodbye, even if Buddy wasn’t awake to hear him, and left.

But unbeknownst to Chase, Buddy had heard him. He heard the smile in his voice, and felt the tender brushes of fingers on his cheeks. He was drifting back into unconsciousness, heeding sleep’s gentle beckoning. He clung onto the melodic timbre of Chase’s voice, knowing it would carry him off to sweeter dreams.

Violet watched this strange human go, listened to the faint thump, thumps of his footsteps as he made his way down the stairs, and then, a panicked “Hi, Mrs Forenski! Bye, Mrs Forenski!” as the front door slammed shut.

Chapter Text

Nox woke up later than he usually did. The window, still cracked open from the night before, let in a concert of birdsong that had begun in the early hours of the morning and was now just tapering off. The birds were awake and were out foraging for food. But Nox?

Asleep, like a log, bathing in the warmth of the afternoon sunbeams that filtered through the window and phantom fingers that caressed his cheeks.

Violet, on the other hand, was bored. There wasn’t a lot to do when you were just five inches tall. The books were too big and the pencils were too long. Everything was just the wrong size. There was eating, of course, which quickly became one of Violet’s favourite hobbies after Nox brought back a bag of giant chocolate bars one day. But Nox was a greedy little bugger. He was possessive and he was petty. He only gave Violet a few chunks of chocolate before he declared the rest his rightful property.

And so Violet sat on Nox’s half-closed hand, upturned and forming a soft pedestal for her to lounge on, biting off a mouthful of chocolate viciously. She faced the door, deep in thought. She had had a close call earlier when Nox’s grandmother poked her head in to see if he was awake. She had to dive under the pillow. How humiliating. Thank goodness Nox wasn’t awake to witness that little incident.

She shifted her gaze to the ornate ceiling rose. Her thoughts drifted to her missing siblings who she now knew was just a stone’s throw away. Violet was distracted when Nox finally started to wake. He pulled back his hand and started to turn the other way to face the wall and smush his face into a pillow. But at Violet’s size, a simple pull of the hand became a human python recoiling with force enough to send her tumbling.

A sharp yelp escaped her and then Nox was properly awake, shocked out of drowsiness by the sudden sound. He turned back around and tried to sit up.

“Careful!” Violet had to shout before the logs Nox called legs threatened to flatten her and then duck out of the way.

Nox blinked. “Sorry, Vi,” he yawned. “I’m so tired.”

She scoffed. “I don’t doubt that at all.” But faced with the twin bags of blue and black under Nox’s eyes, she found it difficult to inject venom into her tone, even if that venom itself wasn’t potent. She placed a hand on his, taking in how comically small his human size made her look. “I met the human,” she said instead of the ‘are you okay?’ that’s been circling round her head the whole morning.

Nox took a few seconds to respond, letting the words excavate space in his consciousness after sleep had smoothed it out. “Chase?”

“Yes, Chase. How many humans are there? You’ve only mentioned this one.”

Nox’s shoulders slumped as he exhaled. “There’s his fri– cousin. Freckles.”

Huh. “That’s his name?”

“Yeah.”

The sound of some sort of vehicle whizzing past the house broke the lull in their conversation. Nox got up to change out of his pyjamas. The movement drew Violet’s eyes to Nox’s feet. The scratches, red and mildly angry, just like the human had mentioned. They looked clean though. Violet supposed that was also the human’s doing. What a bleeding heart.

“He talked about Silver and the others. He said – what are you holding? Put that down. That colour washes you out!” Violet hurried towards him, only to realise that if she were to take another step, she would fall off the bed. She may be made of metal, but she wasn’t a fan of falling off of things. “Nox! Come here! Give me a lift!”

Like a well-trained puppy, Nox went back to his bed. It took Nox several tries to position his hand just the way Violet liked it, but eventually he was able to carry her over to the chaise, which afforded her a direct view into his closet.

“No, try another one. What is this monstrosity?” Nox held a grey T-shirt to his chest. When Violet gagged, he hung it back on the rail and went for another. His grandmother had gone all out when she heard he was coming. His closet was tastefully full (because bursting at the seams was plebeian), but Nox wondered if Violet would ever be happy with any of the clothing in the closet.

“Anyways,” Nox began, desperately trying to remember what Violet had said before, “Chase talked about Silver, and then?”

Violet gasped. “Try that one! That one! Nox!” She groaned, and then stomped her feet rather dramatically onto the plush of the chaise when Nox screwed his face up in confusion and plunged his hand into the void of the closet aimlessly. She could feel the frustration building up inside her chest and thought she might just explode if Nox tried to suggest another tacky T-shirt that was printed with a bad mockery of mascara-heavy vampires. “Lift me up!”

Nox obliged, too lost in the situation he now found himself in. What did he plan to do again? His mind was blank. He was already pulled deep into Violet’s fashion frenzy. He was partly at fault though. If he hadn’t asked (whined to) Violet about storybook outfits in the first place, he wouldn’t be in this situation.

He gave Violet a quick tour of his wardrobe via a sweeping gesture of his arm. She tutted and shook her head, but she did eventually settle on a plain black turtleneck and another pair of plain slacks. Nox pulled them over his head and up his legs gingerly, and when he was done, picked at the folds of the fabric. He didn’t need to say anything to express his lack of enthusiasm but Violet noticed it all the same.

“These were the only acceptable pieces of clothing,” she insisted.

“Out of everything in here?”

“Yes. And if you don’t like them, you’ll just have to do some shopping.”

Nox’s mouth pulled together in a pout. He tugged at the high collar of the turtleneck. “It’s too… tight.”

“You can’t be walking out here with the usual outfits you like to wear for that human,” Violet shot back nonplussed. “Besides…” Violet gave him a once over. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

Nox studied the smooth plane of his shirt. “It’s not sparkly. And it doesn't have rhinestones.”

“Like I said before, sparkly low-cut outfits may be suitable for your human, but it’s going to give your grandmother a heart attack.”

Nox dropped his arms in shock and a spot of colour flushed up his neck. “They’re not for Chase!” But he looked away when Violet gave him a look. “Besides, what were you saying before? With talking to Chase and…”

Violet’s head perked up from where she was, rummaging through the stack of folded shirts that sat at the bottom of the wardrobe. Whilst Nox was too busy being unimpressed with his outfit for the day, she had managed to jump from Nox’s hand to the hangers, and then slid her way down the length of an atrocious T-shirt. So what if that left two long trails of warped fabric? She had perfect nails and she was absolutely unapologetic for them. That shirt deserved to burn in hell anyways, in Violet’s humble opinion.

“Oh, he talked about Silver and the others. He said we should go visit them.”

A small spike of surprise poked at Nox pleasantly. “Chase said we could?” Chase would let them?

Violet crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed. “We don’t need a puny human’s permission. Besides–” but she cut off. Her head turned slightly to the door, her ears picking up the muted thuds of approaching footsteps.

Just as the door swung open, Violet dived back into the shadows of the wardrobe. Diane's head poked into the room. And when she caught sight of Nox already woken and dressed, her face lit up.

“Oh, Nox, dearie! You're awake! I've made breakfast for you downstairs!”

Nox stood stock straight at the sudden intrusion. “I see… thank you…” Diane nodded, the wide smile still on her face. She watched Nox expectantly. “Grandmother.”

And somehow, despite a smile already on her lips, the simple utterance of Nox’s ‘grandmother’ sent a burst of energy through her. Her smile threatened to split her face apart.

“That's very alright, dear. I'll see you downstairs, then– what's that?” She nodded to the washbasin that laid near Nox’s bed. Panic flared briefly through Nox. The washbasin! He had forgotten about that! He took a quick glance at his feet – covered, socks, thank goodness – and then to the washbasin. Excuses failed to materialise on his tongue. “Did Charles use that? That silly boy, we have a bathroom here! Nox, be a dear and bring that basin to me please.”

Nox obeyed, his mind running a hundred miles an hour. Was that it? Was she going to get suspicious?

He brought the bowl to Diane, who only beamed and ruffled his hair before disappearing downstairs.

“Well,” Violet said, emerging from her hiding place.

“Well,” Nox echoed, touching his hair where they were shaken out of place. He stared blankly at the open door. “Let’s head down.”

Buddy left his room. Despite Violet having chosen his outfit for him, she hadn’t thought far ahead about where she would go. They had taken a moment to try to nestle Violet into the sliver of space between the turtleneck’s collar and Nox’s nape, but that was too narrow for Violet’s liking. They tried hunting for hidden pockets (Violet thought visible pockets took away from the overall silhouette) but they found none. Buddy had to settle on carrying Violet in Chase’s teal bag. It clashed horribly against his colour palette for the day, but Violet couldn’t complain too much if she didn’t want to be left at home.

As Buddy had known from the first day he arrived, the kitchen had a set of double French doors that were panelled with glass. Light flooded in from the gardens. Just as he entered, Buddy heard the clink of a plate being set atop the marble counter.

“Nox! There you are.” Diane waved him over from where she was wrestling with a box. She tried using her nails to swipe at the hollow valley of tape between the two cardboard flaps, but eventually surrendered to scoring it with a pair of scissors.

Nox approached, adjusting how the bag rested on his shoulder and then giving up and throwing the loop of the bag strap over his head instead. It was far more stable that way. Violet could deal with his wardrobe offences when they were out of the house.

He hoisted himself up onto the kitchen stool and then shuffled until he was sat at the centre. It was one of those stools that was more aesthetics than function. The seat was so small that only a child could sit comfortably on it. Nox caught sight of a copy of Architectural Digest on the far side of the kitchen counter. The stool he was sat on now looked suspiciously similar to the stools on the cover.

The plate in front of him was extravagant. There was a piece of buttered toast, sliced diagonally and placed on the outer edges of the plate. A mound of baked beans covered the strip of bacon underneath. There were also two triangular pieces of hash brown, a large mushroom rimmed with charred black and pan-seared tomatoes. A pair of black circular blocks sat in the middle of the plate.

Diane pulled open a drawer – the same drawer Chase had rummaged through just days prior – and pulled out a set of knife and fork. Buddy saw the shadow of Chase’s hunched back as he searched for the elusive cake slice in her place, and a ghost of a smile lingered on his lips.

“It’s an English breakfast! I know it’s a big change, coming all the way out here all of a sudden, Nox. Sugar Springs must be so different from the countryside you’re used to. I thought this might help with the homesickness. I tried to copy the recipe as closely as I can, but who knows how reliable the recipe is itself!” Diane placed the cutlery next to the plate for Buddy and then went back to studying the instruction manual she fished from the now-opened bow. Nox’s eyes took in the picture of a cream kettle on the front of the box she was wrestling with, now discarded onto the floor. The kettle was placed on the counter, and Diane hummed as she retrieved a pair of leopard-print reading glasses and began her read.

The manual was written in English but… Diane just wasn’t sure about ‘the use of any electrical appliance requires the following common sense safety rules…’ Was her common sense common enough for this kettle’s requirement? She muttered some colourful obscenities under her breath – who knew making a cup of tea would be this hard? She was told by some of her friends that the English considered it a mortal offence to heat water up in the microwave. It hadn’t been long since Nox arrived, and she didn’t want to offend him so early on.

Nox watched her with big eyes. Violet was sneaking off the edges of the hash browns – the best bits – from under his nose, but Nox couldn’t tear his eyes away. A lump was steadily growing in his throat. If his voice hadn’t died in his throat, he might have asked why she was bothering at all. He wasn’t worth the bother.

Ten minutes later, a box of Yorkshire cracked open for the first time and too much milk poured, Diane placed a cup of tea in front of Buddy. Her eyes stayed trained on the beverage as if its existence was a blemish on her history in the kitchen, and she had to fight the urge to snatch the mug away to replace it with good old orange juice.

“Agatha Grunfelder who lives next to Ralph is also from England, dear. Perhaps you should go and talk with her for a little slice of home. She’s a great host, no doubt she’d make you some proper English tea…”

Nox drowned his grandmother out. He hadn’t had the chance to spend much time with her yet, but even then, he knew she was a chatterbox. His ears would probably fall off. Speaking of chatterboxes, Nox thought as his mind strayed, Chase was one too. He wouldn’t mind if Chase talked his ears off about this, that or the other. It had been several hours without hearing Chase’s voice. Nox began to wonder if that was why he’d been feeling all sorts of off today.

Taking advantage of Diane’s distractedness, Violet clambered out of the bag and made her way to Nox’s lap. She had to give him a hard pinch on the stomach to catch his attention, but in the end, Nox complied with her wordless instructions and she did manage to get close enough to the plate to break off a larger chunk of hash brown. Nox must have been a strange sight, what with him bending so unnaturally close to the counter, but sacrifices must be made for the greater good.

Diane talked on and on – about Ralph, about the baking sale, about the good friends and families she had had the pleasure of knowing over the years. She told him about the families who had kids around Nox’s age and gave him a not subtle nudge to go make friends with them. She also managed to extract a confirmation from Nox that he would go to Agatha Greunfelder’s for tea.

Nox nodded and hummed when it was appropriate, not really listening to what was being said. He had had a lot of experience moving the conservation along even when he wasn’t invested in it. It was a habit from the storybook plots he had done. He had absolutely no intention of following Diane’s advice, however. His plan for the day was to find Chase, and only Chase.

He cut off a bit of the circular block, having already made a start on all the other components of his breakfast-lunch, and a metallic tang instantly filled his senses. His eyebrows crinkled in weary shock and he stared at the offending piece of food speared on his fork.

The words were heavy on his tongue, but the tang of metal was stronger. “Grandmother… what is this?”

Diane whirled around, a cup of coffee in her hands. “Oh! That’s black pudding, dear. Don’t you usually have this in England?”

Nox pushed the black pudding around on the plate. “But what is it, grandmother? It tastes… strange.”

Diane hummed and then opened the fridge to pull out the unfinished tube of black pudding still in its packaging. Her eyes scanned the packaging. “It says here it’s made mostly out of pig’s blood…”

Nox exchanged a horrified look with Violet, whose widened eyes reflected his own horror. His stomach turned. His mouth flooded with sour bile. He rested his knife and fork against the plate. Violet reached out and snatched the remaining piece of hash brown as Nox pushed it again.

“Are you finished, Nox?” Diane peered at the half full plate. “Oh dear… are you feeling alright? You’ve not eaten a lot…”

It was true. Nox didn’t have much appetite. He had made little progress at nibbling at the corners and edges of each individual component of the breakfast, but most of what had been eaten was mostly Violet’s contribution.

Nox’s hair on the back of his neck rose. A hot flush struck through his body as he felt the weight of his grandmother’s concern directed at him with her kind eyes. His body felt foreign. There seemed to be a thick layer of cotton wrapped around his body. He couldn’t feel. He wanted to run away. He wanted to hide. He didn’t want to be seen.

There was a momentary lapse in conversation as Nox retreated inside his mind. Violet stared up at him worriedly, but at the same time, keeping an eye out for Diane, should she round the kitchen counter and notice a sparkly purple figurine on her grandson’s lap.

“You must not have much appetite, dearie. Nothing to worry about. I heard it’s common with jetlag.” Diane’s voice was soft, as she took the plate away. She gave Nox’s shoulder a barely-there squeeze.

“Right,” Nox choked out, manoeuvring himself off the kitchen stool as gingerly as he had gotten on. “I, uh… I’ll head out now.” Nox was at the front door before he realised and he had to retrace his steps stiltedly back into the kitchen. “And… thank you.”

Diane looked up from where she was hunched over her standing mixer, the forest green sheen of the mixer’s coating winking reflected sunlight at him. When she heard Nox’s words, she beamed with grandmotherly pride.

“Of course, darling. Anytime.” And as Nox started to retreat from the kitchen again, she said, “Would you like to try these? I know you don’t have an appetite today, but maybe a little chocolate might help.”

Buddy’s head snapped to face his grandmother.

“Chocolate?” he whispered. His eyes scanned the kitchen top and noticed the array of baking ingredients lined up in an orderly fashion. Eggs, flour, sugar and… two slabs of chocolate? He looked up at his grandmother – oh, when had he gotten so close? “I can have chocolate?”

Diane smiled. She tore open the chocolate packaging and broke off a chunk for Buddy to try. When Buddy’s hand hovered in the air a bit too long, she brought the chocolate closer to him and her smile grew as she watched.

“Thank you,” Buddy said, eyes on the ground and fingers starting to get sticky with melted chocolate. It was a small price to pay for the spread of cocoa on his tongue though, and Buddy would happily pay it many times over.

A comfortable silence fell over them – the light sort of silence that didn’t suffocate or press on Buddy’s chest – and Diane went back to weighing her ingredients on a digital scale whilst scrutinising the recipe book in front of her.

Like his approach to most things, Buddy was meticulous and found comfort in rigid structure. He let the chocolate melt on his tongue until a quarter had gone before he shifted the chocolate over to his molars and started to bite down on it.

“Is this gluten free?”

Diane froze. Her expression morphed into one of horror as she turned to him. “You can’t have gluten?” It felt like ice cold water was poured over her. Oh, what sort of grandmother was she to poison her own grandchild?

Buddy paused, not realising what had just come out of his mouth. “No, I–” he saw the increasing levels of panic in her eyes and quickly backtracked. “I can have gluten. It’s just… I was asking… for a friend.”

And as quickly as her alarm came, it was replaced by relief and then enlightenment. “Oh!” Diane exclaimed, whisk in one hand (where did that come from?) “Is this for Charles?”

Nox frowned. “Chase.”

Diane nodded sagely. “Yes, Charles.”

Nox narrowed his eyes. “Chase. His name is Chase.”

Diane paused, perhaps sensing the mild annoyance from her grandson. A small smile tugged on the corner of her lips, but she knew this wasn’t the time nor place for it. “Chase, yes.” Diane twirled a wooden spoon and brought the end of the utensil to her lips as she began to chew in thought. (Where did the whisk go?) “This particular brand of chocolate isn’t, unfortunately.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Would you like more?”

A small part of Nox felt a strange flush of indignation race through him at the idea of non-gluten-free chocolate. But he took one look at the opened pack of chocolate on the counter and Diane’s warm eyes and his resistance came crumbling down.

“Yes please,” Buddy said.

.

It was well past noon when he did leave the house. The sun was at its most intense. Nox could feel its heat on the back of his neck. But even then, there was a gentle breeze that lifted his coiled anxiousness away from his tense muscles.

Violet didn’t say anything as she watched Nox take a deep breath. Why ask if she knew he was going to say he was fine? She wished she was large enough to give Nox’s hand a squeeze to remind him he wasn’t alone despite how it sometimes felt. She had to settle on giving his pinky a squeeze instead.

“Right,” Nox said when he had composed himself. He flipped open the bag’s flap and ignored Violet’s yelp as she narrowly avoided Nox’s clumsy giant hands. He retrieved a crumpled piece of paper. “I think we head down this street and then turn right?”

Violet gave Nox a light pinch at his waist. She had made it out the bag, but she was not going to attempt to scale her little brother. “What’s this?” she asked after she was given a lift to Nox’s shoulder.

“Directions,” Nox answered, “to Chase.”

Violet narrowed her eyes in disgust, although she knew Nox wouldn’t be able to appreciate her show of emotion. “Is that meant to be handwriting?”

“Apparently.”

Nox gave the directions a once-over. Freckle’s handwriting was legible… Nox just hated being nice to him. He didn’t like Freckles. He was bossy, he was nosy, and he told Chase what to do. He came in all arrogant with his notes and then acted like he was better than everyone else. Why did Chase need Freckles when he already had Buddy?

Even though he didn’t want to admit it, Nox had already memorised the words that Freckles scribbled out so carelessly but meant so much to him. It wasn’t fair. He had pored over this crumpled piece of paper in the dying sunlight after Chase and Freckles left yesterday, his thumb running over the minute grooves and valleys left by the pressure of the pen.

His feet began walking, his mind lagging behind. He remembered feeling the quiet directions of hope punctuate the fog of panic last night. He remembered the blue-black roses; he remembered the darkness licking at his skin; he remembered his father’s angry shout. But most of all, he remembered the angel high up, leaning out a round window. Buddy closed his eyes, feeling his heartbeat settle at the image in his head.

His north star, his pyrite.

Chase.

He looked up to gain a bearing on his surroundings. The area where his grandmother lived was a nice neighbourhood, to say the least. The plots were uniform with their trimmed grass and a polite scattering or two of flowerbeds. The pavements were tiled with wide stone slabs and dotted with leafy sycamore. There were a few defining features that Freckles used as landmarks in his improvised direction guide, like the calico cat that sunbathed in a special cat-sized lounger on someone’s front yard, or the bright yellow phonebox someone had imported from London and then smothered up its traditional red look with sunshine yellow.

Nox followed the directions, but he found himself slipping the note back into the bag. The turns and twists of the neighbourhood were becoming familiar to him. He felt the gritty texture of the pavement underfoot and a phantom warmth grasping his hand. He wasn’t alone. He had made this journey once running away from demons and found comfort at the destination. Nox had a good memory. He remembered the hurt and the terror easily as he breathed, but happy memories were few and far between, but those etched themselves far deeper into his heart than monsters could ever hope. The way to Chase might as well be his way to salvation. He was certain he could find his way with his eyes closed.

Violet watched quietly where she hid in the messenger bag as the scenery passed them by. She had retreated back into the safety of the bag not long after her criticisms of this ‘Freckles’s handwriting. Even though she’d prefer to sit on Nox’s shoulder, it was far too dangerous.

They eventually made their way out of the block of lookalike houses and closer towards that line of forest at the peripherals of Sugar Springs. Nox walked without hesitation. After the note was retired into the void of the bag’s cavity, Nox only looked straight ahead.

They passed houses with tidy front yards, small pockets of garden with a bench or two hidden in the bosom of greenery before reaching half-roads with overgrown weeds. They had cut straight across the town centre at one point, and Violet was tempted to tell Nox to stop – there were so many shops there,and she was bound to find something she liked – but one glance at the focus in Nox’s eyes kept her quiet.

The end of the weedy half-roads branched off into two. Nox chose the left branch, and they arrived standing in the front yard of a marigold farmhouse, standing tall and proud against the backdrop of the forest. Was it the front yard? Nox took a look all around him. Did it count as the front yard if the forest surrounded everything? Maybe it qualified more as an overgrown, oversized patch of grass instead.

“Nox!” Violet hissed, dragging his attention away from the window he had been staring at, “Give me a lift!”

Nox obliged, transporting Violet from her nook in the bag to his shoulder once again. They took in the house in front of them, stepping backwards so they could fit the entire height of the building in their sight.

“Where’s Silver?” Violet asked, one hand grabbing a bunch of Nox’s hair for security.

“I don’t know,” Nox muttered. His eyes danced over the edges and the points of the roof, but his gaze gravitated towards that tower window he had seen Chase lean out.

Upon Violet’s urging, Nox approached the front door. There was a L-shaped porch that provided Nox some shade from the afternoon sun. Little signs of life were littered everywhere, and the wellie boot with stars stamped all over Nox spotted brought a small smile to his lips.

He tried the door. No luck. Locked.

“Try to break in!” Violet suggested, eliciting a pained hiss from Nox as she pulled a little too enthusiastically at his hair.

Nox tried the handle again. The sad clack-clack of rejection from the lock sounded.

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

Violet hummed. “How big is that gap underneath the door?” Nox thought about crouching down and pressing his fingers into the gap to see, but when he glanced downwards, it was clear as day there was no such gap. Violet fell into a stumped silence. “Well, what about other areas of the house?”

“Oka–”

“Hey!”

Violet shrieked and yanked his hair so hard she lost her footing. Nox’s quick reflexes kicked in and he snatched his dangling sister from his hair and stuffed her back into the bag.

“Hey!” he answered, whipping around and finding nothing but air. Air?

“Hey! Down here!” Nox looked down. It was Prunella, much like the last time he had seen her, arms akimbo, eyes narrowed and a smudge of dirt across her right cheek. “What are you doing here?”

The words flew over Nox’s head and faded amongst the onslaught of Nox’s own panicking thoughts. No no no no no! Oh no! What did she see! What did she hear! Did she–

“– hello? Hey!” Prunello aimed a kick to Nox’s knee. “You forgot my name, didn’t you? That’s so rude of you, I bet you remembered Chase’s name the moment you–”

“Prunella?” Nox tried, heart hammering against his heart. Did she see? Did she see?

Prunella scanned his face. Her eyes narrowed at the worried scrunch between his eyebrows. Was he hiding something? Who cared. Not her problem. That would be Chase’s.

“That’s right, well done… Anyways, what are you doing here? Are you here to find Chase?”

“Er…” Buddy thought hard, suddenly feeling very aware of Violet in the bag by his side. He pressed his nails into the flesh of his palm where Violet couldn’t see. “Yes. Is he home?”

Prunella leaned to the side to look at the door she had obviously seen Nox try to open. “Nah. It’s Friday. He’s gone to see his mum.”

Buddy thought he felt a little pinprick of disappointment. Chase wasn’t home? His eyes strayed to the direction he knew the tower window was. When was he going to see Chase next? “Right, I see.” His hand went to grab his elbow like he was grabbing onto a lifeline to anchor him to this reality.

The bushes behind them rustled with movement, momentarily drawing Buddy’s gaze from the wooden planks of the porch. A squirrel emerged, mouth stuffed with nuts, and then scurried away from sight.

“Well,” Prunella began, “What are you going to do now? Do you want to wait for Chase?”

Buddy’s head propped up. Oh, he hadn’t thought of that before. “Maybe.”

Prunella’s mouth twitched upwards in confusion. “Maybe? That’s a yes or a no question. What do you mean, maybe? Anyways, just come over! Mum loves guests…” she mumbled. Her demeanour soured at the thought of her mum, but then, turning quickly, she went, “But you’ll play with me, right?”

Buddy’s eyes flew straight to where Prunella was tugging on his shirt. She was dangerously close to his bag. He could see the tip of Violet’s purple head poking out from the gap at the side of the bag. His heart hammered. Prunella was too focused on watching Buddy for his answer, so thankfully, she didn’t notice. Although… Buddy thought, remembering how the little girl in front of him was also a key holder, perhaps they wouldn’t need to hide Violet from her?

“So?”

“So?” Buddy echoed, the cogs in his head still spinning furiously as he assessed the risks and the danger of what he was thinking.

Prunella pulled away. She frowned. So? Play with me? No, that was too childish. She scratched her nose and wracked her brain. Oh! “Deacon said you gave him three questions,” she announced and subtly, or not so subtly, began to pull at Buddy’s shirt. Buddy had no choice but to follow if he didn’t want it to stretch. He had spent twenty minutes trying to find a shirt that didn’t burn Violet’s eyes earlier, and this was the one shirt she deemed acceptable. If this little kiddie stretched it out, Buddy would have no choice but to go topless.

But maybe… a small part of him began to think traitorously, maybe… that was something Buddy could explore… When Chase was… around. Without realising it, Buddy was smirking, daydreaming, miles away in his own world.

Prunella gave him a weird look. And here she thought he was smarter than Chase. Jeez, what a pair they were. But she wasn’t one to complain. When life handed her lemons, she’d take the seeds and plant them and grow an entire lemon farm. And then become a millionaire so she could buy loads of unicorns. Also, Buddy daydreaming made it infinitely easier for her to drag him over to her house.

They reached the road that separated the Hollow farm and the Gruenfelder bed and breakfast. Prunella paused, looking at the road unsurely.

“Are you going to hold my hand now?”

Buddy’s eyebrows would have shot to his forehead at the unexpected question if he wasn’t still preoccupied with his daydream. “Sorry? I have to hold your hand?”

Prunella thumbed her shirt. Her eyes had already started to roll just from her reasoning. She could almost hear Chase insisting to hold her hand. Wow, maybe she was hanging around with Chase too much. His brain germs were starting to infect her.

“Well no,” she reasoned, nodding like she was explaining this to herself for the very first time, “I’m old enough to cross roads now, but Chase always makes me hold his hand. Anyways, no-one ever uses this road. It’s probably not even a road. It’s a dirt track.”

“Oh, okay,” Buddy said, taking her word for it and then stepping out into the road.

“Wait!” Prunella screamed. A truck was driving down the road, and it was driving down fast. She could almost feel the rumbles and vibrations of the ground below her as the truck roared towards them. The blinding headlights of the truck was the last thing she could see before her vision was consumed by white. Then, quick as a viper going for the kill, her hand shot out, grabbing a handful of Buddy’s shirt and then giving him a powerful yank backwards.

Had she made it? Was he okay?

Her heart raced like a rabbit’s and her eyes were wide with adrenaline.

“Buddy?”

She looked back to where she had tossed him, almost expecting to see a limp figure lying on the grass.

The truck zoomed by. The windows were cranked open and the distorted voice of a heavy metal track zinged passed.

“School’s out! Woo!” One of the stupid teenagers shouted from where his head stuck out from the truck’s sunroof. He gave a slurred holler and then threw his head back in laughter.

Prunella glared at them with every fibre of her being, the blood racing in her veins fueling a startling rise of fury and sharp hatred in her chest.

She heard a pained groan behind her.

Buddy.

She whirled around, fearing the worst, and ran over to help Buddy sit upright with shaky hands. “Are you okay?”

Buddy brought one hand to rub at this back gingerly, and then winced at the action. “I’m good. Just… shocked.”

Prunella’s hands hovered over him. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I think so.”

She scrunched her eyebrows close together, taking in the scene. Buddy’s bag was flung unceremoniously onto the grass. The flap was open from the impact and there was… a small purple figurine? Which was moving? Whatever, Prunella could ask about that later. She practically saved Buddy’s life. Surely that should earn her a question or two.

“No, no, no,” she said rapidly, scanning him for any red – oh, please don’t let there be any red. “We’re going to my mum. Now.”

She pulled him up by the arm. Her heart skipped every time she heard Buddy suck in a pained breath. She went to collect the bag from where it laid. When she crouched down, she made eye contact with the figurine, whose delicate features rearranged themselves in an expression of shock. “Get in,” she said, voice still shaky, and gently ushered the key lady back into the safety of the bag. That was a key, right? That had to be a key.

Dirt dusted off his bottom and a quick examination for any urgent wounds later, they stood side by side at the road once again. Prunella scrunched up her face in thought. In the end, she opted to grab a fistful of Buddy’s shirt.

“What?” She said when she caught Buddy’s confused expression. “Clearly you need supervision to cross roads.”

Buddy looked down at the end of the road where the truck had disappeared and pursed his lips. “You said no one used this road. You said it wasn’t even a road.”

Prunella ignored him, “I’m telling Chase about this. Next time, he can hold your hand instead, you big baby.”

After a moment of lightning quick wit, suspicion wove itself into Buddy’s frown. “Are you saying that to stop Chase from holding your hand?”

“No. Not exactly.”

“Chase has two hands.”

Prunella rolled her eyes. “Then both his hands should be holding yours. I’ve never been run over by a truck before.”

“I haven’t either.”

“Yeah, because of me. I’m still telling Chase.”

Buddy frowned and stared at the little girl in front of him, wracking his head for something – anything – he could latch onto to fluster her. Prunella met his eyes with a determined glint; she wasn’t backing down. When he realised this, Buddy found himself missing Chase even more. That little idiot.